


The Young and (Un) Afraid

by QuintessenceMeister



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Agender Oz, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Fetish, Fights, Friendship, Gun Violence, I'll add as they come up, I'm sure more tags apply, Intense Violence, Kinks, Multi, Other, Sex, Trans Amira, Violence, equal parts angst and fluff and smut, just try and stop me, this is gonna be long, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-08-20 19:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 94,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuintessenceMeister/pseuds/QuintessenceMeister
Summary: Ever eager for a new challenge with the cunning to overcome it, Amira is hit with a betrayal she can't beat.Vicky wants to explore a future of possibilities outside the repetitive grind of high school years, but that's just the bad-influence of her fellow classmates speaking.When there are scores upon scores just like him, it became easy for Brian to lose track of his own self, and maybe it's too far lost.What they are, their very existence, it's nothing anyone can comprehend, not really. So Oz shouldn't bother holding out hope for anything close to understanding.Good thing they're all wrong and have each other. Because they're about to start falling in love.





	1. Young and Very Fucking Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello. Never shared my writing online before, so pardon me if I'm awkward as fuck.
> 
> I guess things to keep in mind for the start of this story are:  
> 1) A friend and I agreed on the thought that, since the monsters portrayed in-game are ones that tend to have extended, if not fully indefinite life-spans, that's the reason why everyone's in their early 20's and still in high school. Working along that thought process, it makes sense if high school is longer than 4 years for them. And since I want to keep this is uncomplicated as possible, I settled on an 8-year high school length. (And that's truly the scariest part of this monster world)  
> 2) I'm not a fan of rushed-romances, so this is gonna take place over a goood long time. (Also because I have too many cute headcanons, 6 weeks won't do, most importantly--you can't stop me)  
> 3) That in mind, for sake of simplicity, the player characters and main 6 love-interests except Miranda are all the same age. (20 at the start of this story, with Miri at 17)  
> 4) Our main students are in the last few months of year 6 of high school, this WILL continue past their high school years because, as I have said, my headcanons need a place to LIVE and I shan't be stopped.  
> 5) Lastly, in case anyone has forgotten, these guys are all MONSTERS. I appreciate every fic I shamelessly read online but I feel like that fact is downplayed WAY too often. THIS. WILL. BE. FUCKED UP. As in bloody, brutal, kinky, sexy, and there will be prevalent and blatant disregard for human life... also a disregard for conventional sex. These guys have WEIRD bodies and their sex will be WEIRD. If that's any level of problem for you I urge you to find another fic, there are plenty of good ones out there.

Getting to lunch had been a _slog_. Ever since Vicky asked where Amira was while they sat at their usual pre-class hangout zone, behind the auditorium light fixtures, and Brian responded with a grim expression. ‘Grim,’ taking into account that he was a zombie with a torn-out cheek and damaged facial nerves, making his range of expression almost always _some_ form of grim.

 _“We’ll talk about it at lunch,”_ he’d said. _“She’ll be there,”_ he assured them. His assurances didn’t make morning classes any easier—for either Vicky _or_ Oz, neither of whom had any classes with Amira until after lunch. They both trusted Brian—one of the three people either of them _could_ trust, but with no visual confirmation that she had come to school today… even trust couldn’t subdue their worries.

Their classmates, either as dense or as useless as ever, were no help.

Liam de Lioncourt wouldn’t be caught undead caring about such matters as the attendance of the uncultured swine around him. Miranda similarly cared little (translation: not at all) for the goings on of the commoners. Save for those who were plotting her and her family’s next, certainly doomed to failure, deposing. She then, with sudden alarm, wondered if that could be the reason for their classmate’s absence. In which case, this would indeed be a cause worthy of her notice. Despite Oz’s best efforts to assure Miri that the reason their friend wasn’t in this class today was because they were _never_ in this class to begin with, Miri’s suspicions would be quelled by nothing less than a thorough investigation by her royal spymaster, subsequent trial, and summary execution. It was only Oz’s quick thinking to give the name of a _different_ student when said spymaster came, dragged them into the bathrooms—hastily converted into an interrogation chamber—and thusly interrogated them that saved both Amira’s hide and their own. I mean, Juan the Orc was fucked, but he stole Vicky’s favorite pen in the fifth grade. So it evened out. Vera’s help came at a price Oz and Vicky _combined_ could not afford. Polly was just too high.

(She had either seen _zero_ Amiras in Antisocial Studies, or _forty_.)

Amira’s presence on campus wasn’t confirmed until two classes before lunch when Vicky looked out the window and saw that a fire broke out on the other side of the football field. Such an occurrence could normally be credited to the pyromanic prince of hell, Damien LaVey. Except, as Oz pointed out, _he_ was too busy sitting in the back row being pissed that someone was setting fires _without him_ and responding by setting _bigger_ fires to _their_ classroom to be responsible for that one.

(Um… about that fire quickly consuming their classroom…?)

As the class evacuated Damien’s firestorm in the usual disorderly fashion, Vicky spotted Martin the Werebear Janitor crossing the field to investigate the first fire. At which point a small sandstorm kicked up and swept across campus till it quelled itself near the back of the auditorium. You know, as sandstorms usually do. In a heavily forested environment. Covered with grass. In a region that sees plenty of rainfall yearly from ominous, supernaturally-generated storms alone.

Yep. Definitely no one’s sandstorm-shapeshiftable friends here.

None you can prove.

At the cue of the lunch bell Oz morphed into the black cervices of the school and did an oozy shadow monster’s equivalent of a sprint, frightening both the classmates they melted away from and the ones they reformed in front of, to get into the cafeteria before the flood of ravenous teenage monsters could crowd up and set off their anxiety. As they predicted, Amira was already at a far-corner table.

Brian and Vicky, in the meantime, had gotten stuck _behind_ the lunch crowd. But with or without shadow powers, they were as willing to let crowds stop them as Oz. Pulling out the squeak toy she normally reserved to save herself from the wolfpack, Vicky handed it off to Brian and leapt up to hitch a piggyback ride.

“Yo, Scott!” Brian hollered.

The thickly-bearded, letter-jacket clad werewolf’s ears pricked up and he spun, alert and ready to be played like a fiddle.

“Go long!” Brian gave the toy a squeak before lobbing it through the cafeteria’s open doors.

An unmatched determination gleamed in Scott’s eyes as he barreled through the crowd. Students were slammed against walls, falling in a veritable wake behind him. Taking their window of opportunity, Brian and Vicky coasted through the cleared-out path all the way through the doors and past the delighted Scott gnawing away on the squeak toy. They came to a skidding halt at their friends’ table, Brian not even panting with any apparent effort. Benefits of being a zombie: his body stopped producing fatigue toxins _long_ ago.

From the silence between them, it was clear Oz hadn’t initiated verbal communication yet. They often didn’t. But they were learning bits of the situation despite not speaking. They couldn’t read minds, per se. They knew the fears of those around them. What the fear was. Everything in their life that had caused it. Every further fear developed by the original—fear tended to breed fear. The names of everyone and everything that triggered spikes in that fear. This detailed understanding of fear wasn’t something they were born with. It was a skill cultivated by years of lonesome people-watching. Alone time was something you tended to get an abundance of when over the course of your 20 years of life you make 4 friends total. But it was time well spent. A less perceptive embodiment of fear would have to settle for powers of insight as weak as their imaginations would limit them to. And Oz was _very_ perceptive when it came to reading people. Not that that perception was doing them much good.

Her fears of where she would go now? Where would she sleep? How would she eat? That no matter what she tried, her parents would somehow make sure she would never be able to access her own savings account. That nothing she could say would achieve reconciliation with them. That she would never feel the comfort of family again.

Great. Oz knew them all. How to use that knowledge to help this friend he cared deeply for? Not one clue. Not one star-damned clue. Her fears formed a knot in Oz’s throat that they hadn’t been able to work one word past since sitting down.

Amira was well aware Oz clamming up was in reaction to the fears they couldn’t stop themself from reading off her. But after blazing out a lot of her rage on the football field, most of her anger burned out with the cinders she left behind. At least, her _energy_ to be angry was. She was sure it would spark again the minute Oz uttered the first ‘I’m sorry.’ Not that she wasn’t grateful that they hurried to find her—the exact opposite. She knew how nervous using the fuller extents of their powers in the middle of school made them. But she knew the exact words Oz was blaming themself for saying. The advice they’d given that they thought had led her to this. If she didn’t feel so fucking tired inside, she’d already be laying into him for doing this self-guilt thing again. She knew part of them couldn’t help it, but this was not a day in which calmly discussing her and her friends’ problems would come easily.

So, she was exceedingly thankful that Brian came barreling into the cafeteria behind Scott, Vicky in tow, before she could work up a fury again and yell something at Oz she’d only regret the second the words were out her mouth. Vicky, High School Drama Veteran, always kept friendly-fire fights from getting far enough out of hand that the damage was irreversible. Grabbing Vicky by the back of her shirt, Brian lifted her off his back and plopped her into the seat beside Amira, opposite Oz. Brian sat across from Amira. He already knew it all. He’d done all the consoling he could accomplish alone.

Normally, this was the part where Amira would dive into the deep end of her latest family drama, shouting till her hair torched the ceiling and winding up in an arson contest with Damien for trying to one-up him.

(She wasn’t.)

But as she tried to voice the words she’d been reciting all morning, she realized her throat felt every bit as tired as the rest of her body. The whole time since sitting down in the cafeteria she hadn’t lifted her eyes off the table once, not even to acknowledge the arrival of her friends. Now it was all she had the energy to do. And the moment she met their eyes, saw their brows all creased in concern for her, their mouths desperate to say something but holding back their worried words to give her room to say what she needed… the lump in her chest cracked. Amira hadn’t cried all morning. She’d cried plenty last night, but she thought she was all cried-out when she woke up. All day she thought she didn’t need to anymore.

Day in, day out her parents had recited to her the importance of family—the strength which, they asserted, could only be found in blood. Made sense, given her entire species of monster was born of blood.

(Specifically the blood of murder victims, but… meh, monsters.)

So thoroughly her father had impressed upon her that no matter how desperate or dire a situation she may find herself in, refuge would always be found in family. Yet here were three monsters—not even the same monster _type_ , let alone of the same blood—more concerned with her wellbeing than the family she had shared a home with her entire life. They were all leaning towards her, Vicky and Oz each had an arm on the table, straining against their instincts to hug her until she was ready to interact with them.

Seeing that gave her voice the strength to choke past the tears, “Well… they didn’t ta-… take the news well.”

The most pathetic smirk managed to crack the corner of her lips before tears took over her face and sobs wracked her body. The sounds of which were stifled under the cacophony of the cafeteria and Vicky’s shoulder. Vicky had thrown her arms around her, not fearing Amira’s hair and not needing to. Amira had trained so intensely to make her flames burn only what she chose, that not burning her friends now was second nature. Vicky trusted that. Her trust was rewarded as she felt no pain, only warmth. So low only she could hear, Vicky murmured soothing words. That it was ok to cry, no one would bother her. That they were all there for her. That she was safe with them. Amira heard Oz’s chair scoot closer and felt their arm around her shoulder.

By, ‘no one would bother her,’ Vicky of course meant the ‘Dread Boundary’ Oz had cast around their table. A simple spell that, whenever someone got it in their head to approach their table, would fill them with an inexplicable fear of doing so. As long as you had no intention of interacting with those within the boundary at the time of its casting, you were fine. Fine enough to get close enough to the table that Brian could snatch four lunch trays from some students trying to walk by. The meeker monsters backed off and resigned themselves to buying another lunch or going hungry. The ones who thought themselves tough shit activated the spell. Being _this close_ triggered it in _force_. One became a screaming wreck for the next month, while the other got away with pissing her pants, shitting herself, and vomiting all the way to the nurse’s office.  He stayed focused on Amira, but Brian couldn’t help himself from smirking a _little_ as he distributed the lunch trays based on who could eat what.

When Amira had calmed enough to breathe normally, Vicky gave her a napkin and sat back in her seat. She pressed the napkin against her eyes. Without any makeup available for her to put on this morning, she was just dabbing the rims of her eyes out of habit. She unfolded it a bit more to blow her nose, which spit out small fires along with mucus and neatly reduced the napkin to ash in the process. Her eyes were red and raw. Part of her didn’t want to talk about it at all—the part that vainly hoped if she didn’t say the words out loud, it hadn’t really happened, and she’d be able to walk through her front door after school like yesterday didn’t exist.

The other part of her was yelling at that part for being such an idiot. This part of her was aching, angry, and alone with the knowledge of an incident she knew her family was making every effort to sweep under the rug. This part of her needed her friends to know. It still took a few deep breaths to draw one steady enough to get a full sentence out with.

\---

Oz held Amira in a one-armed hug that she leaned into. They had the edge of the shock carved off, having deduced what had happened through her fears. Now past shocked, their beady white eyes and thick white eyebrows crinkled in sympathetic pain. However, their cheek muscles were somehow, so slightly, twisted with a shade of anger, even without the lips one would think were necessary for such facial movements. It wasn’t the presence of a mouth that made Vicky’s expressiveness easier to read, that was just her personality. Heart stitched to her sleeve, and all that. And she was not past shocked. Accompanying her outraged utterances was a look on her face like nothing less foul than a used jockstrap had been slapped across it.

(Don’t ask. ‘To hell with the football team,’ is all you need to know.)

At one point when Amira stopped speaking to settle another sob trying to rebel against the minimal calmness her friends gave her, Brian prodded his yellow and blue-clad friends with his utensils.

“Eat _something_ ,” he chastised in a whisper. He knew they’d both starve their dumb selves if they were afraid eating would be rude to a friend. Oz was less of a concern, but Vicky _did_ need to eat. So did Amira, but Brian had backup plans if she forgot a meal right now.

Suddenly remembering it was lunchtime and they were hungry, they shoved whatever was easiest to take quick bites out of into their faces. Oz—literally. Just. Right into their face. Where did it even go? Vicky—into her normal person mouth. What? Doesn’t your mouth have stitches running along it, inside and out?

“I just thought… you know, cause I’ve _talked_ to them about it, I’ve _tried_ to. It’s not like I did this 100% out of nowhere!” Amira waved her hands up and down her body. “I mean I thought we were talking. Clearly, I was fucking kidding myself and I was just talking _at_ them and I was kidding myself that they were ever listening.” Smoke huffed out of her hair. “But I’ve been telling them for months this was something I’d been looking into, I need this!” She crossed her arms over her new—natural—chest, clenching her fists, frustrated, and hurt, and let down by her parents. “And they—I guess—I—what!? Fuck!”

She was starting to trip over her own words. Oz gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

 _“Breathe,”_ they reminded her, their voice brushing across her mind. Oz’s voice in your mind was always a chilling thing. The sound from some deep, ancient far-reach of the cosmos, yet somehow right here, close and present with you. And it felt wrong that it should be so close—as if this was not a thing that was meant to be.

Pft. Whatever. These three were used to the affront to nature that was their best friend. And the tone of their voice was that of a friend all too familiar with panicked stammering. Heeding their advice, Amira heaved in a few (admittedly much-needed) breaths before continuing.

“Were they not taking me seriously?! This whole time?  Every fucking day!” The tears welling up now were immediately boiling out of the corners of her eyes and steaming off her face. “After twenty fucking years you’d think they’d notice I fit better in this body than a boy’s,” she snorted.

“They were bound to be shocked,” Vicky added, not even trying to keep the scorn out of her voice. “We knew that. But—"

“But was kicking me out of the damned house really necessary? I wouldn’t have thought so either, Vicky _, but here we are!_ ” Amira spat, throwing her hands up and pulling out of Oz’s hug. Her hair shot off another quick plume of fire.

Oz couldn’t ignore the nerve-knotting twist in their core. _“I shouldn’t have suggested such a stupid plan.”_ See? This is why they never tried thinking boldly.

“The plan was crazy, sure Oz,” Brian sighed. “But it’s not like we didn’t think it over dozens of times for _months_. We all pooled in on this.”

“No, the _plan_ was fine!” Amira hissed, trying to keep her anger from redirecting towards Oz. “I’ve _basically_ been transitioning for years. I’m so damn sure this is who I am even _you_ can’t detect any doubt-related fears in me.”

 _“Not for at least the past five years, no,”_ they confirmed.

That much was true. Amira had come out to her friends way back in Spooky Middle School and shaken the last genuine doubts about her true gender identity half a decade ago. Irrational moments of doubt popped up time to time, of course. But those were the kind of gut-gripping, yet fleeting doubts all young students felt, and always assured themselves those would go away after high school, right?

( _Right!?_ )

But the rest of those students didn’t have fear personified to tell them that those doubts popping up were just nerves.

\---

_Amira and Oz were on their own one evening. They were taking turns for shooting practice on bottles and cans with an old shotgun in their usual spot, atop the roof of one of the more easily broken-into office buildings in Monstropolis. Both of them, but Oz especially, were getting a kick out of the panicked people below who thought there was a real shooter in the city. The hidden speakers they left on the streets probably didn’t help._

“If you honestly weren’t sure you’re a girl, you’d be afraid it wasn’t true,” _Oz had said._

_“And?” she asked, watching them line up their next shot._

_The light of the setting sun hitting their face didn’t diminish the totality of the dark void that was their shadowy form. It seemed to sink into their skin and never escape. In one of the few moments of complete confidence in their life, they’d told her:_

“You’re not.”

_With deadly aim, the obliteration of another glass bottle was cheered on by the crack of a shotgun blast._

\---

Fear personified was a pretty solid ‘final word’ on what you were or were not afraid of. She put a hand to her chest.

“ _This_ is me. I know it, you three know it, hell, almost no one in this school bullies me for it anymore!”

That’s because she sets them on fire, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I was done waiting for my real body—I _liked_ your crazy-ass plan!” she huffed. “Even I would never have believed they’d react like this. And now that I know, I’m glad we went through with it. If I’d given them the heads-up that I was making the change, I… I don’t even know what lengths they _wouldn’t_ go to just to stop me. I… don’t… damn! I don’t even know them anymore!” Hot tears spilled from her eyes again, but this time it was just tears. She wasn’t ‘calm,’ but the presence of her friends kept her steady.

Amira alternated between bites of food and making use of the tissue box Vicky had produced for her. “Fhuk, Uh don’ e’hen knoh whur—” she washed down the entire mouthful with water, “where I’ll sleep tonight.”

“What did you do last night?” Vicky asked.

“Had to crash on Brian’s floor.”

“Sorry it wasn’t much,” he grimaced. “All we had for her were extra thick blankets to make a mattress out of.”

Amira shook her head. “Told you, man. I _appreciated_ it. And thank Becky again for me, I know it’s technically against the rules letting me stay. Tell her the one night helped me a lot.”

Brian nodded. “Sure.”

“I could talk to my mom to see if she would let you stay for a few nights, but…” Vicky trailed off.

“But she doesn’t like anything more than one-night sleepovers and even those are asking a lot from her, so it’s a quick fix at best,” Amira sighed.

“Sorry.”

“No—nonono. No. I don’t want to hear _one_ ‘I’m sorry’ from _any of you._ ” She said this while staring Oz dead in the eye.

_“I’m feeling very called out.”_

“’Cuz I am calling you out. None of you had _anything_ to do with my parents kicking me out of my house. You all have _everything_ to do with why I was ever brave enough to come out at all. The _only_ thing I want to hear from any of you is, ‘You’re welcome, Amira.” Because _thank you!_ It sucks that our plan failed, but… well it’s…” Amira stumbled in her train of thought again. It was a testament to how shaken up her parents’ actions made her. Whether it was to rile a crowd or settle it down, Amira could smoothly talk an auditorium full of people into drinking arsenic Kool-Aid even if she _opened_ by telling you all, ‘DIS SHIT POISONED!’

 _“Your parents forcing you out of your own home was never anything you were afraid of happening,”_ Oz finished for her.

“Yeah…” she agreed, solemnly.

Amira started to wonder what they all would have done differently if only she had been afraid of that happening. Oz might have read that as a real possibility. They all could have factored that into their plan. She could have gone in more cautious instead of stampeding into the body-transition spell, leaping before she looked like she always fucking did, but no she just _had_ to trust that her parents actually loved her—

 _“Hey!”_ Oz’s voice resounded through her head. _“You’re letting your fears take you spiraling.”_

Their hand was on hers, and she realized her eyes had sunk back to blankly staring at the table. In that time, a cluster of phobias had popped up along Oz’s shoulders and arms.

“Sor—”

 _“If I don’t get to, you sure as hell don’t get to,”_ they quipped, cutting off her apology, one eyebrow raised as if to add, ‘and do not even test me.’

She snickered at that. Halfway between the laugh and returning to an exhausted sob Amira just sighed and ran a hand through her fiery hair.

“I just don’t know what to do. Like, where the fuck do I even _start?_ ”

“Ok, so let’s address one problem at a time,” Vicky said evenly.

Knowing her as they all did, she already had a laundry list prepared in her mind organized in descending order of urgency. Normally, Amira would be fully invested in listening to the game plan Vicky detailed for the gang. But rocked as her boat was, she just saw too many problems and the fear gripping her chest gave her insides a sharp twist to tell her if every single one of them wasn’t solved simultaneously, everything in her world would collapse to rubble and nothing would ever be fixable from there. She opened her mouth to voice these thoughts she was 100% certain were true facts, but Oz pressed a finger over her lips before one syllable escaped.

 _“None of that.”_ They glared at her, but there was a gentleness in it, not a glare out of real anger. Though, this time by ‘they,’ that included the plethora of ever _more_ phobias that just sprouted on Oz.

This was what the eldritch horror got for making friends. The closer they got to people, the harder it was to block out their fears. Oz would never complain about it though, and Amira knew they honestly didn’t mind. They’ve all had this conversation before.

‘It looks weirder than it feels, I promise!’ they had assured the three of them during a previous friend-crisis. But seeing the tiny phobias was a visual cue to herself she _was_ spiraling. For both Oz’s sake and her own, she forced a deep breath down her throat for a moment of calm. Funny how befriending Fear Personified got them all into some degree of meditation practices. That calm moment gave Oz a chance to pull the phobias into order. Only five or so of the most prevalent ones hung around.

“Hon, I know it feels overwhelming,” Vicky continued. “Like _everything_ is piled on top of you and that’s how you should address it all. But trust me you will only hurt yourself if you try to do it all. I promise we’re not on a ticking time bomb, there is _time_ to deal with everything in turn.”

A voice inside Amira joked that she may have been rejected by her mother and father, but at least everything was less terrifying with Mama Vicky at the wheel. And everything does start making a little more sense as she starts to detail a stable plan.

“Did it seem like kicking you out was maybe a gut reaction to the shock? Do you think there’s _any_ chance they’ll let you come home _tonight? At all?_ ”

“No,” Amira scoffed. “No way in hell.”

“Ok, so at least it will take time—”

“Pretty sure my sister said not till the _end_ of time.” Her hair coughed up a small flare, her energy for her full wrath still not back.

“Either way…” It hurt to have to acknowledge that as a real possibility, but Vicky also knew better than most how unchecked trust in a good outcome could betray you. But that’s a story for another time!

(What? You think you’re getting all their backstories this early? HAH. Buckle in!)

“The most important thing is finding you a safe place to sleep.”

“Oh, you mean the even more impossible task?” Amira sneered. “All my money is _gone._ It all went into paying that witch to perform the ritual, and all my stuff—”

“Actually,” Brian interjected, “I might have one thing we can try.”

They all looked at him expectantly. Nearly all the nerd-squad’s schemes came from Amira and Vicky. But when Brian had an idea in mind… well, our stoic zombie friend was no small thinker. “It’s a little different from our normal heists, but—”

“Ah- _hem._ ” Someone very low to the ground cleared their throat.

A small, imp-like creature, not 2 feet tall with the head of a dog stood by their table. No one had noticed it approach, but now that he was here, well, that seemed to be the spark to re-ignite the fire in Amira—both metaphorically and literally. Her hair, while not yet billowing, had risen back to a steady flame.

“Ilyas, I am to—” the sentence was cut off in a shrill yelp as Amira shot a fireball at his feet. He narrowly jumped back far enough to evade it.

“Never use that name again!” she snapped.

Still lying sprawled on his back, the hinn cleared his throat again, his face smeared with a look of disgust. “I am to relay to you that your possessions remaining in the Rashid household are still considered your own.”

With just a few words the heat of her anger was doused again, as if hit with a bucket of cold water. To hear one of her family’s familiars say it that way, ‘the Rashid household,’ as if she no longer belonged to it, she wasn’t ready for that.

“They will remain untouched as they are. Your familiars will be allowed entrance to retrieve them.”

Between ‘familiars’ and ‘will,’ were three more words that went unsaid. And they didn’t need to be. Amira fully understood the implied, ‘and not you.’

“It would be preferable that you remove your possessions as soon as possible.”

When she first saw the hinn her parents sent, she’d been ready to torch him all the way off school grounds for whatever he was going to say to her. Now that he’d said it, she just wanted to crumple in on herself. An implosion with no power, no energy in it. She was about to murmur a dismissal just to get him out of here when a rising shadow loomed over their table and the lights of the cafeteria began to flicker and dim.

The ifrit, the zombie, the Frankenstein’s monster, and the hinn turned to where the towering shadow stood—head void of any understandable features save for two corpse-pale orbs they all could only guess were eyes—a seamless figure without anything you would understand as limbs, unless you counted the writhing appendages your mind was telling your eyes to see as ‘tentacles’ because to see them for what they were would rend your sanity asunder—and all through the shadow’s body smaller, wide-mawed faces rose and sunk, reaching out, looking for those close enough and too weak to turn away from their own phobias, like a churning ocean of every fear ever felt since the dawn of complex lifeforms.

 _“YoU—"_ The telepathic voice that gonged through the room was one everyone _felt_ more than heard.

Already paralyzed from the sight of it, the cafeteria now erupted in the wails of the lesser monsters and human students. Even some of the stronger monsters tried to clamp their hands over their ears to block out the sound—for all the nothing it did to help. Of those with higher constitutions, most fled, few remained paralyzed, damned to watch in terror, and a small foolish handful ignored the risk to their own sanity to stay and sate their morbid curiosity. A tendril of shadow lashed out to coil around the familiar’s neck.

_“yOu ReALlY thInK NoW is ThE TiMe tO dUMp ThiS sHIt On hEr? RIgHt nOw?! IN tHe mIdDLe oF ScHooL? YoU coUlDN’t EveN gIVe hEr ONe FucKiNG dAy!”_

The last word was punctuated by their fist? slamming down on the three nearest tables and an outpouring of phobias from their body, forming a pool around them of black ooze.

Brian had long since thrown Vicky over his shoulder and bolted while she clapped her hands over her eyes. As an undead, he was one of the monster types whose minds didn’t suffer the maddening effects of being in proximity to eldritch horrors. He was still susceptible to Oz’s fear-powers if targeted, but he wasn’t being _explicitly_ targeted. Reanimated, however, was not ‘undead.’

There is a _difference_ that Vicky will sit your ass down to correct if you even _try_ with her!

And to be _reanimated_ was to be not much higher above the threshold of a human’s tolerance against the eldritch. Even with the personal resistance spells Oz gave her, that warranty policy didn’t quite cover the eventualities of their fits of rage. Amira was just about the only monster in the entire school capable of being this close to them in their rage, withstand their fear-aura _and_ be relatively safe from their violent thrashing. This is what she gets for making friends with the eldritch horror. The closer she got to them, the deeper their unconscious desire to _not_ hurt their friends became. The lashing fears and ‘limbs’ moved around her, some of the engorged phobias even going so far as to protect her from ricocheting debris.

‘Safe’ as she was, she tried shouting over the cacophony to make them calm down. But those efforts turned futile when the familiar mumbled out some meek excuse, the name ‘Ilyas’ on his lips. Oz’s anger broke down the door of what should and should not be tangible and became physically reverberating sound.

Amira gripped the edge of the table, searching for some stability for her vibrating bones. Finding none she was forced to sink to her knees and could only watch as Oz’s ‘limb’ whipped the hinn through the cafeteria wall, making a window to the outside. _Five more walls away._

\---

Damien had spent all last period and now most of lunch dodging Crazy Martin, only recently finding refuge under the bleachers where the first fire started. He had already investigated _this_ one. It was the ultimate hiding spot. So obvious, no one would ever suspect. Damien gave himself a pat on the back for being such a criminal genius. Only, mentally, not physically like some kind of nerd.

He was leaning against one of the support beams, smoking a cigarette he stole from one of the lockers he and Polly hid stolen school sports equipment in. A breeze picked up some of the debris of the earlier fire, but Damien didn’t mind. He liked the ashy smell the wind carried to him. That wasn’t all the wind carried, though. The more the ash-pile got blown around, the more he noticed the bulk of what got burned were small papers, all too charred to guess what used to be on them. Damien shrugged, just as willing to assume it was all evidence some student needed destroyed.

Honestly a perfectly reasonable assumption at this school.

But one not-quite-burned-enough paper caught his attention. Picking it up, he eyed the scrap quizzically. But before he could ponder the improperly burned evidence, the tingling of dread—dread of Damien’s worst fears being realized—prickled the back of his brain. He was too far from the cafeteria to hear much more than the distant screeching of the students, but the voice they all heard could _just_ be detected by those throughout campus. Like a whispered conversation overheard across a quiet room, one you beg your ears not to listen to but _can’t_ not hear. The vibrating wrath that tore through the air in a shockwave, however, was nothing like a whisper.

Calm and level-headed Damien replied to the all-consuming anger from who-fucking-cared-which-pissdrinking-monster with two angry flames encasing his own fists. He didn’t have any plan, hell, he didn’t even intend to punch anyone it was more of a reflex than anything. Those flames snuffed out immediately out of sheer confusion when the small dog-headed monster broke through the wall of the school. He watched it skid across the football field, digging deeper into the dirt on impact, stopping only a few yards from the bleachers where he hid. Damien didn’t have a great view from under there, but peering through the gaps in the seats, into the hole in the walls, Damien could tell that crash made it through at least a couple walls of lockers and chalkboards before ending in sudden darkness. The apparent pitch-black hole only confused the demon further, especially when it—wtf?! Ok, Damien didn’t know shit about science, but since when did white lights—or… not white… but not a color like anything on Earth—pop out of black holes. And since when did sets of unearthly-colored lights seem to… stare into you? And since when did black holes crawl _closer?_

Seeping through one wall and then another, it was _definitely_ crawling closer, and presumably consuming everything in between as it drew nearer to that last hole to the outside.

The voice in the back of his head—the douchefuck ‘smart’ one he totally didn’t have and always ignored, not one of the cool ones that gave him _great_ ideas—told him to run. Whatever the fuck was coming had beef with that little spitfuck half-way in their own grave under the football field with a bunch of the other corpses Damien was slowly stashing a collection of. No point in stepping his favorite boots into _that_ shitstack. But as mentioned, that voice was a douchefuck. So he didn’t run, however, he didn’t charge up to meet the new monster either. Despite the moronic levels of bravery the demon was normally able to muster, Damien couldn’t deny the dread he felt at the idea of this _thing_ making it past the final threshold. As if once it came through, there would be no stopping it until it consumed the world. On cue to confirm that fear, a slit appeared in the darkness. It spread to reveal a lipless mouth, twisted from wrath and hunger, barely revealing the peaks of razor-pointed teeth. His own lips twisted into a serrated smile of sharp teeth.

“Fuuuckin’ METAL!” he growled, altogether too excited at that idea.

One lone roar carried over all sounds of madness-inducing horror that the shadow was producing. Also, you know, the outcries of all the students trapped in shadow-monster-induced madness. A roar that made Damien reflexively duck out of sight, despite being already hidden. Crazy Martin the Werebear Janitor had shown up to ruin all the fun _as usual._ Just reaching a long, finger-thin tendril of shadow down the wall of the last hole, the maw zipped shut as if it never was, and the slowly encroaching eyes shrunk nearly down to pinpricks, two lone stars in the black night, and a choked-out cry grinded through the air. Pain?

The shadows instantaneously slurped back through wall after wall before snapping back into a figure. But that figure was too far and fell to the ground too suddenly to see clearly. But through the school’s new row of windows Damien could make out Crazy Martin and Principal Giant Spider. Even at this distance he could see PGS giving the ol’ ‘disrespect for student safety and school property’ talk.

Bluh. Boooring. Damien had more interesting things on his plate. Like this new dog-headed punching bag someone so thoughtlessly left alive in the middle of the football field.

Oddly enough, the monster was already smoking slightly. But Damien was sure he hadn’t started any fires on him yet. Peering closer in the crater, he saw it was from some kind of weird letter—symbol?—sigil?—sign. Let’s call it a freakish sign, and it was seared into his skin forming a sickly, putrid scar.

Pft! Lame. Damien could burn something _way_ cooler than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, as I said, I'm new to sharing, and I'm especially just getting used to this site, so sorry if formatting looks awful.
> 
> Now, for Oz. Don't know if anyone picked up what I'm putting down, but they HEAVILY influenced by H.P. Lovecraft, and will dive into the Cthulhu extended mythos as the story goes. That will... get explored along the way
> 
> For Amira's influence, I obviously used the Islamic lore of jinn, specifically I drew from what knowledge I could find on ifrits, which are a type of jinn. Aside from the fire, she has shape-shifting powers similar to Oz, but different and each have their own style that makes them more versatile for different situations. One thing mentioned ifrits can turn into is sandstorms. Also, it's said they're made from the blood of a murder victim and can take the form of the person whose blood they're made from.  
> Anyone confused about my mention of hinn, in short they're a type of creature that have been mentioned in the same writings as jinn, said to be extinct, and either look like or have the form of a dog. (There's not a hell of a lot I was able to find on them, they just kept coming up, and I wanted to give Amira the ability to summon familiars, so it kind of fit.)


	2. Knowledge is Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian lays out his plan for Amira to score a place to stay and Amira has to lay on the charm.  
> Meanwhile, Detective LaVey is on the case.

Ah, gym class. You either loved it or you hated it. Or, you know, were fine with the physical activity, less fine having to put up with the questionable necessity of your classmates’ scrutiny and ridicule over your physical prowess. Or the confounding schedule of weeks on end of dodgeball—exclusively dodgeball—only ever interrupted by infrequent and unannounced obstacle courses that resulted in mass student maiming. But for one merciful day, Coach was _absent_ and there was a substitute gym teacher! Apparently, the amplified fear-aura of a certain shadowy ooze monster losing their temper was enough to set off some people’s flashbacks. Who knew?

And this sub, like most substitute teachers drafted into working with Spooky High did _not_ want to be there.

Thus, it was dodgeball as usual… only, without Coach’s boisterous roaring forcing everyone into participation. _This_ sub knew better.

(That’s fucking because _last_ time he was here and tried to insist on student participation Vera tied him up in the locker rooms, subjected him to experiments to test out the next new craze in popular drugs she was formulating, the results of which were ruined when Polly leapt in and possessed him. That _was_ already part of the plan, except where Polly neglected to mention the cocktail of _other_ drugs she was already on.)

While most students participated in the game, a few groups who didn’t feel like it congealed in the corners and against the walls of the gym. This was honestly the nerd-squad’s favorite period, if for no other reason than they all had it together. Dodgeball was more Amira and Brian’s thing. Vicky had fun playing, nothing could stop her from that much, but sports weren’t her strong point. Oz did… fine… physical activity wasn’t something they were _opposed_ to, but team sports were not their forte.

Given their lax substitute teacher, nerd-squad was among the non-participants in the gym. Well… three out of four. One of them was still in Principal Giant Spider’s office for their rampage in the cafeteria. So the trio sat huddled in a far corner. With the dust settled, they finally had a minute to let Brian put his idea for the robbery on the table.

Amira sat leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her knees. “If we’re going to plan, shouldn’t we wait for Oz?” she asked.

Brian shook his head. “No time. I know where you can stay, but if we miss this chance to get the cost knocked down, it’s gonna be a lot harder to afford it long-term.”

Well that had her intrigued.

“Hang on, what kind of establishment rents to high-schoolers on an extended-stay basis that we could afford and is not in a dangerous part of the city? Cause if you’re thinking of putting her in some skeevy totally-not-brothel I won’t hear one fucking more word—”

Brian’s hand gently placed itself over Vicky’s mouth.

No.  I don’t mean ‘Brian put his hand over Vicky’s mouth.’ I mean he popped his hand off his wrist, it crawled over on its fingers, and hopped up onto her face.

“Cool your jets, the motel might be a drug front, but it’s the one on the nice side of town.”

“Mm MMFF mmmf?!” Vicky’s eyes widened in incredulous anger.

(Also, I think she said, ‘A DRUG front?!’ Not sure. Kinda hard to tell from under Brian’s disembodied hand.)

“Ok, now my question.” Amira raised her hands to get the flow of the conversation back. “What kind of front organization, especially the ones on the nice side of town would rent to a high schooler?” Amira’s tone had a few notes of disbelief, but… Brian always had a few cards up his sleeve. And he never put forth a plan if he wasn’t sure he was holding a winning hand.

“The kind owned by a high schooler.”

The phrase ‘ok, whut?’ was all over Amira’s face. Brian glanced behind him. His back was open to the rest of the gymnasium. His eyes landed on a spot further down the wall they’d grouped against. They did always tend to keep themselves separated as far as possible, even from other students carrying the metaphorical ‘loser’ patch forcibly sewn onto their backpacks. Following his eyes, there was no one else between their group and the next. A group comprised of Liam, Polly, and Vera ignoring them both to aggressively text someone.

“Are you out of your—” Amira sputtered before Brian’s hand could hop off Vicky’s mouth and putting a shushing finer to hers. Softer this time, once the hand jumped back down, “Are you out of your lifeless _mind?_ ”

“Rude. But no. If we can strike a deal with Vera, you’re set. For as long as you need.”

“Sure. 100%,” Amira agreed. “One problem Brian—why the holy _hell_ would she help _me?_ I thought we settled this—I’m _broke._ I have nothing to offer. And even if you _three_ pooled all your cash together,” this was including the currently absent Oz, “we couldn’t afford help from Vera.”

With his attached hand, Brian wagged his finger. “You don’t have _nothing_ to offer. Vera Oberlin deals in more than just monster bucks. To use her own words…” You know, the words she said when trapping him in the science lab to frame him for one of Damien’s murders. “Favors are their own kind of currency.”

Amira’s eyes narrowed, suspicious, but curious. That’s when she noticed one of his ears was missing. A dubious smirk edged on her lips.

“And what kind of favor is our Lady with the lusciously venomous snakes for hair in need of?”

The intact half of his mouth pulled up in a grin. “My _very_ reliable sources inform me she and Damien have a plot in the works for a heist. And they’re in dire need of a little more… firepower.”

As Brian gave Amira the run-down on everything he’d been overhearing that morning, it was Damien who Vera was aggressively texting.

Vera:: For crap’s sake you half-horned halfwit

Vera:: Crazy M is distracted by the monster who went apeshit at lunch.

Vera:: Btw you missed one HELL of a spectacle

Vera:: You can come OUT now! We need to solve our little

Vera: …

Vera:: lock smith assignment.

 

Damien, however, was preoccupied at the moment. No longer with dodging Crazy Martin, but following him. The predator becomes the prey at last. But not to murder! No, not this time. This time Damien was doing some hard detective work. Presently into the case of ‘What the fuck was THAT?’

As soon as he’d been sure PGS and Crazy M cleared out, Damien snuck through the holes, now coated in an unnerving, opaque, dark-gray residue, to check out the aftermath in the cafeteria. And oh unholy SIN was he not disappointed! Almost none of the students had even managed to _stand up_ yet. Sure, the physical damage to school property was _brutal!_ And that was _rad._ But if you’d managed to take the emotional trauma of all 9 Crusades, liquified it, and spiked it with the concentrated horror of the Bubonic Plague, then you’ get _close_ to what Damien was seeing on everyone’s faces. And that image, now lovingly burned into his memory was _so hardcore_ … it… gave him such a raging boner that it got distracting and he had to sneak into a corner of the library real quick to jack off.

(No, no. No smut yet. Don’t worry your precious perverted heads, it will come in due time.)

 _Unfortunately_ , that was the undoing of more than just the zipper on his pants. Now he’d lost the trail.

“Dammit!” Damien cursed himself. It took a few minutes running up and down the halls before he realized. There’s one, and _only_ one place all student-run rampages ended up at. The ones that got caught anyway. Which was most of them, this school was strict as fuck.

The Principal’s office.

And that’s where he found himself now, crouched outside the door, his phone on silent so he wouldn’t give himself away while he eavesdropped. He was hoping to hear a name, or for the student to speak. Maybe he could recognize them that way. But no cigar so far. The whole time since he squatted by the door only PGS had spoken.

“The number of students effected is staggering. Our nurse is trying to see to all the students, but she took one look at them all and said if we didn’t call in extra help, she’d go on strike effective immediately. Do you understand the—”

Blah, blah, blah, something, something, burden on school staff and finances. As if he hadn’t heard that one before! Damien would be bored out of his mind if PGS didn’t keep throwing out juicy little details of the collateral damage here and there. That’s the shit Damien fucking _lived_ for. Also, got hard for. He had to stop himself when he caught his hand wandering to his crotch again. Seriously, for once it could _wait._ He was on a mission!

“All reports from our preliminary findings indicate your… _aura_ is lingering through the whole school. Our teachers of magic and metaphysics all agree your attendance will only extend the time it will take to dissipate. I’m sorry, but until it has, you’re suspended.”

 _“Oh come the fuck on!”_ Damien screamed internally. _“You’re avoiding using her/his/or their name on purpose, aren’t you?”_

(Yes.)

“Good,” PGS replied after a pause.

Wait. Damien was _sure_ he didn’t hear anyone else speak. He had his ear practically against the door. Even if the student was quiet he’d hear something muffled.

“I’ll have your teachers compile their lesson plans and assignments and we’ll have it mailed to your house as soon as possible. You’ll have until you’ve returned to classes to complete it all.”

There was another long pause, and as sure as his skin was red he was _not_ imagining this or getting distracted. There was _no other sound._ Nothing other than what was the unmistakable heavy breathing of Crazy Martin the Werebear Janitor who had dragged the student into PGS’s office. And it just _had_ to be him to open the door, almost catching sight of the demon before he could dart around the corner.

Fuck it, he had to bail unless he wanted to wind up in the same seat as the other guy. The chase on him had died down, right? No more dawdling. He had to get to gym class.

…No, fuck, wait, he’d missed another period, hadn’t he? What even was his next…? Oh sweet! To study hall! Where no studying was ever done.

 

\---

 

With a task to focus on and a pep talk from Vicky, Amira was able to cram her emotional turmoil onto the overstuffed backburner for now. She didn’t at all doubt she could charm her way into this job. Going by the info Brian gave her, she was actually familiar with the kind of security hardware Vera was up against. But… given that this was Vera of all people, just going up to the drop-dead gorgeous gorgon would take as much boldness. Because if she failed this one she might as well drop dead from how embarrassing it’ll be.

The other issue was Liam and Polly. She didn’t at all mind talking in groups, she loved the energy of a crowd. But when discussing sensitive information, she knew her chances would be better without others to distract Vera. Not to mention that, while she of all her friends toured around other friend-circles the most, she was still part of one of the school’s ‘loser clubs,’ and subject to the ridicule of being such.

 _‘Well,’_ she thought, _‘Maybe this is day one of changing that.’_ Not breaking her stride, she took a deep breath and a stray dodgeball and without looking nailed Scott with it.

“Huh?! Wha—!?” At first startled, Scott whipped his head around to see who could have gotten to the _side_ of him when all the players were in _front_ of him. Truly a mystery for the ages. Wait, no it wasn’t. “Oh, Amira!” he said, joyful and relieved. “Did you want to play too?”

Amira shrugged. “Wasn’t me dude. It was Liam.” She pointed at the vampire too busy ‘schooling’ Polly to notice, too hipster to care. “I’m sure he’d love to,” she said, giving two finger pistols and a wink.

Scott looked absolutely ecstatic, shouting something about how he knew Liam would come around to loving dodgeball, that it was ok to be shy about it. All the excitement (and drugs) got Polly riled up too. So, in spite of his disgusted outrage at the suggestion that he would like such a mainstream competitive sport, or maybe partly because of it, Polly dragged him onto the court in time for the start of the next match.

Beneath Vera’s outwardly annoyed appearance… was an internally annoyed person, but beneath that she was slightly amused by the antics of her peers among the upper-echelons of their school’s social structure. A tormented Liam was always amusing. She’d grown bored of his and Polly’s banter anyway, especially with the substantially big fish she was frying—this heist was crucial to her latest business scheme. She needed the money, and the target bank needed to go down. She’d set her sights on them some time ago, a slight sabotage here, some disastrously altered records there. One more push, they were done for, and she could move on to phase five.

And then she saw Amira strolling over and in a moment was on the precipice of being either A) amused, B) annoyed… turns out it was option C) curious. Was something different about her?  She ended up eyeing Amira the whole time she walked up. But Vera was nothing if not smooth… and smart… and beautiful… and—

(*Snaps fingers* FOCUS.)

Not a monstress to fall into the tropes of awkwardly stumbling over words, she casually remarked, “Not leading a commanding victory today?”

That wasn’t Vera giving a compliment, that was just a fact of Spooky High dodgeball. No monster could get luckier than to get picked for a team captained by Amira Rashid. Except a monster picked for a team captained by Amira that also included Brian and Scott. Then you were unstoppable.

In dodgeball. You were probably still a loser in everything else.

And yet, Amira shook her head. She leaned her back against the wall beside Vera, giving her a safe three feet between them, of course. Didn’t want to insolently crowd the lady. Or be too close in range of her snakes.

“There will be other games, ones with more interesting stakes. Not really worth it when there are…” Her eyes drifted over to give a smoky side glance, “more lucrative enterprises to invest my time in.”

Well, at least she wasn’t so lacking in eloquence as most of the imbeciles in this school. She knew how to pique your curiosity. Vera Oberlin was never one to turn a deaf ear to potentially interesting information. Whether that information turned out useful or not was for Vera to decide. Knowledge is power, etc., etc., and she _liked_ power.

“Oh? And what irons are in your fire these days?”

“The kind capable of getting you into the Monstropolis Savings Bank vault I know LaVey can’t bust open on his own.”

The cold blade of a knife chilled her neck, but Amira kept her cool.

All part of the negotiation process.

“Alright, who the hell told you?” Vera hissed, each of her snakes rising up, playing an accompaniment.

“No one interested in snitching.”

Amira’s silver tongue gave no room to doubt her. That didn’t get her completely off the hook, Vera didn’t grow a dozen successful illegal businesses by falling for smooth talk. She lowered the blade from Amira’s throat, so she wouldn’t risk getting cut simply by the wrong turn of her head. However, her hand stopped only a few inches down, resting the tip over her heart. And maybe the substitute teacher should be concerned about that. But the magazine he was reading was keeping him _so safe_ from knowing information that would give the students cause to come after his life. He literally couldn’t afford to put it down!

“Then let’s hear your pitch. What makes you think you can succeed where he’d fail? I’ll grant you—your pyrokinesis is all that can rival Damien’s in this school. But why would I place my bets on you over a literal Prince of Hell?”

“Because you don’t make bets, you make investments. I didn’t say take me instead of him—there’s value in teamwork.” She gave Vera a sly smirk. Not one Vera was ready to reciprocate.

“True enough.” It was worth noting Vera’s version of teamwork mainly involved figuring out how to use people—make the _team work_ for her.

“That type of vault is set up so if one of its hinges are broken, the whole thing shuts down.” She snickered, “Let me guess, Damien’s banking on being able to blast it so quick they’ll melt off simultaneously?”

Vera’s frown twisted further—disappointment in her chosen partner’s simple-minded ‘problem solving.’ Just the kind of doubt in her partner Amira was hoping to exploit.

“Could be done, sure. But _does_ he have the fire-power for both locks? More importantly, can you really count on _Damien LaVey’s_ self-control to get the timing on _point?_ ”

Vera sneered. “And you _can_ keep his timing on point?”

“Making these morons march to the beat of my drum is what I do to _relax._ ” She cast her eyes to the dodgeball court as she spoke. Scott and Polly were still hyped with the energy of the game. All that fun they were having, well they just couldn’t let their good buddy Liam miss out on one moment. They kept him trapped playing—emphasizing the _dodge_ part of dodgeball. It didn’t matter Vera wasn’t aware that was of her engineering. And Vera didn’t need Amira to go out there for some time-wasting show of power to remind her how the tides would turn in favor of _whichever_ side Amira chose to stand on if she walked out there right now. She did need… one thing.

“Well Amira, if you’re so interested in joining our…” Oh what’s the word? “Shopping spree…” That’s right. Shopping. For other people’s money. At the bank. “Tell me this.” At last she brought the knife away from Amira’s chest, instead holding up her cell phone. On it were blue prints for another type of door-sealing mechanism. “How do you suggest we get past the auxiliary security measures?”

Amira took the phone, studying the plans carefully.

“It has me stumped and Damien— _ugh._ His bright idea is C4. Which _won’t work._ What does he suggest?” In her best impression of Damien’s voice, “ _More._ ”

Amira snorted, zooming in and dragging the image around to get better looks at the notes, highlighted points, searching for design flaws, finding none. Well, none she’d recognize. She was a good lock pick, but engineering works of this caliber were more Brian’s area of expertise. She could go ask him to take a look at it… but Vera was watching her _intently_. Vera didn’t come to her looking for help. _Amira_ was the one asking _Vera_ to join the crew. This was 100% a test, no party here was pretending it wasn’t. If she wanted to prove herself, she had to figure out a way using her _own_ brains. And how uncool would it look if she ran off to ask her buddy to solve the problem for her!

However… if she could make it worth her while… that didn’t mean she had to rely on her _strengths_ alone.

“And this lock is set to trigger at any unauthorized—”

“Bio-scans, but only after the infiltrator is inside. At which point the oxygen is vented out, vacuum-sealed, and will only open again when all signs of ‘activity’ are terminated. And no—the undead can’t trick it. It’s calibrated to account for the living and ‘differently living’ alike. See, it’s got counter measures in the event the person doesn’t need to breathe.” She now stood with her shoulder slightly touching Amira’s. Vera’s finger moved the screen to bring her attention to another aspect of the blueprint.

Amira nodded through her explanation. Any tech of this degree was bound to be designed with monsters in mind.

“Given that you’re even considering letting me on board, am I right to assume you’re counting on whatever I can carry to balance out the smaller cuts we’re going to have to share?”

Vera scoffed. “That is if you can actually pull your weight in this mission. Which is _still_ in question here.” She puffed out an agitated sigh. “But yes. This is for more than just the cash value. The lower payout is worth what it will get me in the long haul.”

Amira gave a light chuckle. “Naturally, even your ambitions have better things to do than waste time on small-time jobs.”

Vera almost smiled at the compliment—actually almost did—but stopped herself, and instead pursed her lip, giving the visage of annoyance. It’s not as if the compliments of someone so beneath her meant anything.

“Say I could make it worth your while to bring _one more_ guy on board.”

Vera no longer _looked_ annoyed, she _was_ annoyed.

“I said this is for more than the cash value, I didn’t say the cash value mattered _that little._ Even with you and another person increasing our carrying capacity, how the _hell_ much more could one person take to make a four-way split worth it?” she hissed.

“Firstly, because I’m not that interested in my cut and am perfectly amenable to yielding part or all of it to you.”

“You’re not interested in cash, but you want in on a bank heist?”

“This is for more than just the cash value,” said Amira, slyly echoing Vera’s own words.

Ok. That was slick. Vera kept her snarl, but it eased down… slightly, so you could only see the tips of her fangs that could probably slice your windpipe. Though, you knew she wouldn’t solely on the grounds that it would get your worthless blood all over her outfit.

 _‘Whoa…’_ was the thought that scrubbed away all others from Amira’s mind for a hot second. Amira wasn’t so uncool as to start blushing right then and there, but she was feeling a little extra heat in her cheeks that definitely wasn’t there before.

“Then what _are_ you interested in?”

“I happen to know you are the owner of that cozy little motel on Chalk Outline Avenue.”

“No duh. Everyone knows that’s the front business for my drug trade.” Vera rolled her eyes.

“But if everyone knows—”

“How do I not get caught? Because _it’s_ a front business for my real drug front.”

( _Inception Noise_ )

“What of it?”

“Recent events have left me in immediate need of a place to stay.”

Vera hardly needed a moment to piece together what she was asking for. Fine. She’d admit it. She was impressed. Never out loud, but you shouldn’t even expect this much from her. Normally, people looking for her help without the cash to fork over either left dejected or needed _her_ to offer alternate methods of payment. Seriously, she had to do all the work making deals around here. But here came a woman, game plan prepared, already aware of how the business of favor-for-a-favor worked. It was refreshing. Assuming Amira didn’t blow this for her, Vera had strong suspicions this was a monster worth working with. But, she recalled, Amira had said ‘firstly.’

“And secondly?”

“How worth it do you consider taking _all of it?_ ”

Vera’s snarl snapped off, caught off guard completely.

“You get us in, Damien and I bust down door #1, you crack open door #2, and my pal sits in the vault, cleans house, busts out, and we each end up with a share bigger than what you-me-Damien could take _combined._ ”

“Just what kind of friend do you have that could pull off _that?_ ”

The widest wry grin wound its way on Amira’s face.

“Remember the incident in the cafeteria?”


	3. More than Some Nerve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No "visually" described gore, but there's a brief scene of heavily "implied" gore.

Damien unleashed a fiery howl out the window of his definitely legally purchased new vehicle. No, that’s not hyperbole. He got so excited he breathed fire. There were birds flying by. The operative word being ‘were.’ They’re charred little nuggets on the side of the road now.

“This is gonna be fucking hardcore!” He grinned ear to ear.

It was a _lot_ easier to talk him into letting Amira on board than Vera anticipated. She assumed he’d get angry (as if he wasn’t always) and pick a fight until they cooled him down enough to hear their plan. Amira, however, knew precisely what angle would work on the crimson hellion.

In essence: His fire was hardcore. A true statement. Her fire was hardcore, too. Also a true statement, but one Damien wanted to debate _how_ true it was vs. the first true statement. Everybody remembered how Damien displayed his interpretation of ‘debating’ when the school counselor convinced him to branch out in his extracurricular activities. He all but forced him onto the Debate team in an attempt to push him into an inspiring change of character with a cast of budding new friendships. What? It was a tried and true formula from a multitude of teen feel-good comedies. In a shocking turn of events that caught exactly nobody off guard, during their first competition with another school Damien leapt across the stage to beat the piss out of the other team at the first sign of disagreement.

Disagreement. In Debate Club.

(Ok, so not _nobody._ The other team was caught very off guard.)

Amira deftly curbed his impulse to debate her by making him consider, he’s already seen how hardcore it was when it was his fire _against_ her fire. Could he really pass up this chance to see how hardcore it would be if their fires blew up something _together?_ The answer was no. He could not. Hook. Line. And sinker.

However, the mention of the fourth crew member they had to go pick up had Damien less than thrilled.

“What the fuck do we need another monster for?” he snarled.

Vera waved Amira quiet before she could speak up from the back seat. She could handle him from here. Just as well, gave Amira a chance to text her buddy before popping in on them.

\---

_The rest of gym class had been spent convincing Vera her pick was 100% the best monster for the job with reminders of the sliver of their awesome power as displayed at lunch, and subsequently planning the heist. When the bell signaled the end of the period, they parted ways with mutual confidence and with Vera’s threats of the utter reckoning Amira faced should she fuck this up for her._

_She rejoined Brian (now featuring_ two _ears) by their lockers to head for their next class. One they were supposed to have with Oz—where_ was _that kid?_

_“You haven’t checked your phone yet, have you?” Brian said._

_Well, no, of course she hadn’t. It was against school policy for students to have their phones out during class time and—Aha HA! HAH!_

_Pulling out her cell, sure enough, she had two text notifications. One from their group chat, one sent only to Amira. The group chat read,_

Oz:: Got suspended. Don’t know how long.

Vicky:: Are you alright, hon?

Vicky:: :(

Brian:: Shit dude u need us 2 grab u anything?

 

There was a 10-minute gap in the time stamp.

 

Brian:: Want 2 meet up l8r?

Brian:: Or r u going str8 home?

 

Another 5 minutes elapsed between messages.

 

Brian:: Oz please

Vicky:: Make sure you eat something.

_As of yet, Oz hadn’t replied once. She checked the private texts._

Oz:: I’m sorry about lunch.

Oz:: No, I AM apologizing for that.

Oz:: If you or the others start feeling panic attacks, tell me, I’ll reinforce the spells.

Oz:: I’m so fucking sorry for leaving you right now.

Oz:: Tell me what you guys plan, I’ll come whenever you need me.

Oz:: I promise to help and not just flip the fuck out again.

_Amira’s brow knotted in worry as she read._

_“Are they ok?” Brian asked, mirroring her concern. To anyone else, his face looked stoic as ever, but Amira noticed the faint crease in his own eyebrows._

_Amira grimaced and gave a shaky ‘could be either way’ wave of her hand. Deep down they both knew that no, no Oz was not ok. She texted them back as they sat at two desks next to each other._

Amira:: Oz, I’m not mad. I understand ENTIRELY. I don’t blame you for shooting the messenger. Dude was being a douche

Amira:: It’s such bullshit you got suspended with half the crap other guys get away with in this school

Amira:: I WILL need your help with the mission though

Amira:: We have to go tonight. After school

Amira:: Can we meet up? Please?

_As class started Amira hid her cell under her notebook, continually peeking for Oz’s response. The period was almost over by the time she finally started seeing those three little dots appearing and disappearing._

Oz:: Sure. I’m just at the arcade. Text me where/when you need me to go.

Amira:: I’ll come to you

Amira:: Thank you in advance,

Amira:: This job is gonna be WAY out of the ordinary and I gotta ask a big favor of you, but I really need your help

Amira:: If this pans out it might get me as permanent a place to stay as I can hope for

Oz:: Whatever helps. I’m here for you.

Amira:: Thank you

Amira:: And please text Vi and Bri back

Amira:: They’re really worried for you

Oz:: Sorry. I will.

_It took a minute, but the group chat finally pinged with a couple reassuring replies from Oz. Amira watched the tension visibly drain out of Brian’s shoulders._

_Very gooey tension—wait no. That’s zombie-infected run-off puss. Happens all the time._

\---

As Vera prattled on about this, that, and the other thing with more than a couple words Damien didn’t even understand, his eyes kept flicking up to the rearview mirror. In it he caught stealthy glances at Amira. She was texting the loser she and Vera insisted they needed. Aside from his doubts of that, something was off about Amira and he couldn’t put his well-manicured finger on it. Not off in a bad way, but the fact that he couldn’t tell what was different was bugging the fuck out of him.

 Damien’s weird, intense staring did not go unnoticed by Amira. For the love of crap, he kept almost driving them off the damn road. She quickly assumed it was him being pissy about the new crew roster. To be fair, this was sprung on him last minute. But Vera had the last word, and oh was Vera giving him a few words.

 

Amira:: We comin’ in hot, thot

 

In her head, she imagined she heard Oz’s laugh. A silly, but well-placed rhyme never failed to get at least a giggle out of them.

 

Amira:: You still @ the arcade? Or should we pick you up somewhere else?

Oz:: Yeah, I’m still here.

 

She relayed their destination to the driver, who refused to stop bitching about splitting the take four ways and letting them know how seriously he was thinking of cutting that down by cutting one or more of _them._ Given that this was Damien LaVey, nobody was doubting he was serious about the murder. Of course, Vera could get away with rolling her eyes and ignoring his threats. She was probably one of a maximum three people at Spooky High he wouldn’t risk intentionally screwing over. Amira questioned her and Oz’s safety. Maybe they wouldn’t die, but she wasn’t too keen on getting the two of them stabbed.

They pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall the arcade was housed in. Vera clapped her hand-mirror shut, done with the touchups on her makeup. Now was game-time and she wanted to double check the sack at her feet to make sure they had everything.

“While you’re in there, brief them on the plan. I don’t feel like going over it again.” She rolled her eyes.

The remark was obviously a dig at Damien, but he wasn’t paying attention. Now that he wasn’t driving he could stare at Amira head-on. And he did so. Squinting. At first Amira started getting creeped out by this, but studying his face with a fraction of the intensity Damien was giving her, she saw his eyes weren’t regarding her leeringly or judgmentally. He looked honestly confused. Now Vera noticed, and she too was weirded out by Damien’s expression.

The silence about it was what was really bugging Amira, and she just had to break it. “Can I help you with something?”

“Those aren’t fake.” He pointed a finger at her.

Both women realized he wasn’t just pointing at her, he was pointing at her breasts. The sound of Amira’s rage snapping sounded a lot like her fist punching Damien’s jaw. Oh wait.

It only knocked a grunt out of him, but the force did throw him against the steering wheel, blaring the horn. Sitting back up, he saw Vera angry. Good. Except, not good. For him. Cause she wasn’t mad at Amira, she was mad at him. Oh so if he tries to punch a party member, he’s in the wrong! But if they punch him he’s still—!

“I know you’re a literal god-damned douchebag, but how about _don’t?_ ” Vera snapped. “For one job! Just one. After we’re done with the robbery, I can sell tickets to the shit show of your ass getting dragged over the pavement by her.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll help. People would pay through the nose to see _that._ ”

Fucking really!? Why was Vera on _her_ side?

Holding his chin—damn she clocked him good—he reeled, ready to lay into Amira, set the car on fire for good measure, leave Vera to save her own fucking self, take the fight into the city after he and Amira survived the explosion and then he saw her. Alone in the back seat. Arms crossed over her chest, eyes searing with anger. But less anger than he expected, she looked more… embarrassed?

Oooo-k. Now he saw where he went wrong.

“Fuck, look, my bad, ok?” Make no mistake, his voice was the farthest thing from ‘gentle,’ and his ‘apology’ still came packaged in the form of sounding like he was yelling at her. His eyes actually did look somewhat remorseful, though. Which Vera found odd, what the hell? Damien? Remorse? No, it didn’t add up.

“I didn’t mean it that creepy, damn. I just meant—seriously Vera? Have you not noticed that yet?”

“Damien if I hear one more word objectifying Rashid out of your lecherous mouth I’ll force-feed you a bowl of Holy Ketchup.”

(Hey! She remembered your last name. +2 Charm.)

“Whatthefuck? No, shitdicking dammit, Aaaghh! Amira! Did you get a physical sex change?"

“Yes,” she yelled back.

“See? This is news to me!”

“That’s what it is,” Vera gasped, not so surprised _at_ Amira, very surprised that it took her till now to realize.

Amira’s lips pinched together, her flaming anger suddenly had all the oxygen sucked out.

“That’s… sort of fair…” Amira grumbled. “I _did_ pop into school suddenly after having a sex-change. But that doesn’t mean my body’s yours to examine or analyze like a creep! And you didn’t have to make my breasts the main point of your statement!”

“Yeah. No. Got it,” Damien grunted, trying to play off how much his new bruise fucking hurt. A lot less than his ego did for letting her get in a sucker-punch, though. “Can I say you look good?”

“Well thank you!” she shouted.

“You’re welcome!” he roared.

(Goddamn, can’t high schoolers just hold calm, civil conversations about important events in each other’s lives?)

She looked at Vera, who was clearly caught between wanting to shout at them both they were wasting her time and… genuinely wanting to talk about this. Er, rather, let _them_ talk about it… Vera wasn’t interested in this peon’s personal life! She may be on the verge of exiting loser-status, but she hadn’t shaken it off yet.

Though… she couldn’t help but suspect the timing of Amira’s sex change and her sudden need for lodging was more than coincidental. She was sure Damien had no clue, but Vera was actually capable of piecing together a puzzle.

“Lovely chat we’re having, but our conversation will be all the sweeter when we’re swimming in cash. Be back with our guy in a hot minute.” She winked and hopped out of the car as Vera nodded.

As soon as the car door closed she heard Damien launch into a swear-slathered tirade of complaints beginning with snarling, ‘Ohhh _right._ That reminds me—about this fucklamp we’re teaming up with!’ and going on to explain how Amira was fine, sure, but whoever they were picking up was ‘probably some noob that’ll trip the fire alarm or something stupid like that.’

 _‘Ooohhh this will be interesting,’_ Amira thought. But it was… nice to have a couple more people know about her transition that _didn’t_ seem to hate her for it. She was pretty sure Damien hated her, but the non-discriminatory hate he felt for everybody.

It took her a minute to find Oz, but she knew all the games they gravitated to. There were only a couple they tended to drown themself in when they were upset. She leaned against the ski ball machine, giving them a knowing look.

“Preeetty sure that counts as cheating.”

 _“Don’t know what you’re talking about,”_ they said flatly. Oz absently rolled another ski ball that leapt up the end of the ramp, destined to fall in the gutter for pity points when a stretchy glob of a phobia popped out of the 100-point hole, grabbed it, and pulled it in. _“I take it we’re going right now? Where are Brian and Vicky?”_

Amira nervously cleared her throat as she stepped up next to Oz. “Eh-hem, yeah, so, that’s one of the weird parts Brian… alluded to before we were interrupted.”

Oz’s hand stuttered mid-roll, turned to goopy static before it remembered what its form was. It was only for a blink, but it was enough to throw off the ball. They bowled it so poorly it just rolled right back down the lane.

_“…sorry about that.”_

Amira visibly mouthed the words along with them, the knowing smirk returned to her face.

“I know you are, but I _really_ mean there’s no need.” Her breath caught in her throat at the memory of what the hinn had said, but it wasn’t so hard to muscle past for now. She was sure once the adrenaline shot of the impending heist wore off she’d crash hard. But those were worries for _future_ Amira. “Seriously, I was going to char his hide and mail it home—er… mail the cinders to my parents. I just—”

 _“_ He _just went to far and was a complete ass,”_ Oz quipped.

“Yeah. So, honestly, what you did to him, you did me a favor. I’m sorry you got suspended for it.”

Oz sighed. _“_ I’m _sorry about your family. Thought they were supposed to be the cool ones,”_ they snarled in a telepathic murmur.

Pained emotions quaked in her chest, ready and waiting for Amira’s energy to dip below the line marking her capacity to ignore it all.

“Me too.”

 _“It pissed me off, and I lost it, and—”_ A sound like static echoing through a forgotten cave near the molten innards of the Earth growled in the minds of everyone in the arcade. _“No._ No. _We have a job,”_ Oz chastised themself. _“We’re getting you a place to stay, and I’m shutting up about what happened until you have a cosmos-cursed bed to sleep in.”_ They turned to face her and off to the side overhand-tossed the last ball into the 50-point hole. The joyous melody of a long-out-of-tune, desperate-to-die machine sang for Oz’s near-perfect high score. It made a harsh, mechanical _whrrr_ as a long stream of tickets rolled out onto the floor.

_“I’m still sorry for technically abandoning you, potentially mentally scarring Vicky, and missing out on the plan-session.”_

(Plan-sessions. They’re like jam-sessions, but for crimes instead of music.)

 _“How was the rest of school for you?”_ they asked, forcing their voice into a level tone.

“You didn’t but thank you, Vicky is fine ‘cause Brian noticed you getting mad before any of us did, that’s ok because it was mostly me and our partner ironing out the deal anyway, and school was… difficult. Skipped most of my evening classes, barely made it through the ones I did stay for.”

Oz put a hand on her shoulder and she pulled them into a hug. When they both pulled away, Oz sighed.

_“So, you said partner? I’m assuming that has to do with Brian’s weird idea.”_

“Yeeeaaahhh… sooo… it was really _only_ supposed to be me tagging in to help, but we ran into a little hitch. That hitch being the ‘Fuck You Hope You Didn’t Like Breathing 9000.’”

(Ok, so it wasn’t actually called that, but that was the nickname Brian gave it and it stuck.)

As she explained, Oz folded up all the tickets and stored them in their chest cavity to cash in later.

_“So just throw me in there, I take the cash—”_

“ _Clean house,_ ” she clarified.

Oz winced. _“That’s… gonna push it with me on an empty stomach.”_ They cursed themself for not listening to Vicky’s text. She _had_  reminded them to eat. _“But I should manage…”_

Amira’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I volunteered you without thinking of that.”

 _“No, no. I got this.”_ They eyed a sallow-skinned wendigo bullying some other ogre kid for his tickets and tokens. _“Cause that guy’s about to develop a severe case of gynophobia, and you’re going to go up and say hi.”_

Amira’s eyes followed Oz’s, took a moment to recognize the classic maneuver, and grinned.

“Can do.”

As Oz turned, they held a hand behind their back for a stealth low-five. As they walked down the aisle of obnoxious flashing games and worn out, rusted colors, a leering little phobia popped up on Oz’s arm. It wiggled down their wrist, down to the tip of their finger, dripped off into an inky puddle, a little ‘plip’ as it hit the cheap vinyl tile. It writhed across the floor, squirmed up his shoe, and attached itself to his ankle where it seeped into his skin. Oz calmly walked on into the restroom. Running a hand through her hair, enjoying the feel of her shaved scalp as much as her scorching locks, Amira sauntered over. She tapped his shoulder and rested an arm on the video game machine he’d taken his stolen tokens to.

“Hey there, hottie.” She winked.

At first annoyed at being bothered, he sneered at her. Looked her in the eye. There was a two-heartbeat pause. Then his sallow skin went translucent. Words failed him. Reason left him. He was all at once repulsed by the woman in front of him and shaken to his core by the terror of her. After all time times she’d seen Oz work, she’d long ago realized just what they found so funny in people’s faces of fear. This was hardly Oz’s most elegant work—they could go a lot further, or more subtle, more specific, only give them a select variety of effects of a fear—but Oz was driving in and out for fast food. So, slamming the wendigo full of all-consuming levels of fear would have to suffice. And the sheer terror slowly spreading on this asshole’s face was a _treat._ He backpedaled from the machine and stumbled, mouth agape, all the way to the restrooms. She’d left him nowhere else to go. The exit door was somewhere behind her, blocked by her, and the aisle he’d been playing in didn’t lead anywhere else. Desperate, remarkably sweaty hands groped the bathroom door for the handle. He looked nearly _relieved_ as he found it and dashed in, and that may be what Amira found funniest.

There was a silent moment where Amira knew Oz said something to him telepathically, probably in a mockery of an effeminate voice, before he belted out screams that were choked off mid-crescendo by stomach-churning, _wet_ crunches. Amira’s smirk soured, shivering as the crunching kept _going,_ sounding sloppier _._

 _‘Ok, yeah, that part I’ll never get used to,’_ she thought, cringing and turning her back on the door.

Oz swaggered out, hand up to their face as if they’d just been licking their fingers. They looked as smug and proud of themself as anyone possibly could without a mouth.

 _“So. Specifically, what deal did you cut?”_ Oz was half panting, but it was the good, ‘tension got some much-needed relieving’ kind. At least, that’s how their mental-voice came out. No lungs, no actual panting. It was closer to… the lapping of waves on the shore, the energy in their voice flowing in then ebbing away.

“We pull this off, agree to be happy with whatever, if any, portion of the take we’re given, and I get a room in the motel on Chalk Outline Ave at a rate that will still leave wiggle room to eat.”

Oz raised a bushy eyebrow. _“The one owned by Ver—”_ they remembered the mention of a partner, _“ah. Well, ok. Vera’s_ vicious _, but be worth her time and she’s not_ un _reasonable to work for.”_ Oz nodded, a finger touching the space below their nose. This was pretty crazy even by the standards of Brian’s plans, but ultimately doable.

Amira bit down on her lower lip. And she _kept_ her teeth there until they neared the exit door.

“Yeahhh… she’s not the partner I’m concerned about. This is a four-monster operation…”

She waved to the confused employee trying to get a head-count so she could lock up the arcade for her dinner break. Pretty much every business in Monstropolis had day and night hours for the nocturnal monsters. Even then, nearly everyone rested at some point. Standing on the curb, Amira nodded to the parked car across the lot, directly ahead of them.

They both could see Damien’s mouth shaping the words, “You have got to be FUCKING kidding me!” in the driver’s seat while Vera rolled her eyes and plugged one ear against his shouting. Pretty sure they could hear his shouting from where they stood, too. Fascinatingly enough Oz seemed to have shapeshifted a stomach because it _lurched._ Would you look at that—it was performing backflips in their throat. Medical miracles, ladies and gents.

Oz spun on their heel, attempting to hide back in the arcade but Amira anticipated this and spun them back around, now holding their thin waist in a vice grip. Through the glass door they could hear the employee moan,

“Go HOOOOOOME.”

Her woes went unnoticed, but Amira was dragging them away from the door as they shouted over each other, so what the hell more did she care?

“You can handle this—”

_“I don’t want to—”_

“I know he’s an ass,”

_“Has he told you what a spineless fuckbench I am yet?”_

“—but think of all the heists he’s pulled,”

_“Cause you know he’s right!"_

“—never once caught by the cops.”

_"You don’t need me—"_

"Not for those, anyway."

 _“You guys’ fire powers aren’t_ that _reliant on oxygen—”_

"Besides, he'll be too busy blowing up the vault to worry about precious lil' you!"

_“What’s a little vacuum going to hurt?”_

“Oz, I’m asking you to help me,” she pleaded. “Me, your _friend._ ” She wouldn’t ever go there, but internally she begged their anxiety to not let this be one of those times it actually full-stopped them from doing something. She honestly did not have another way around the FYHYDLB 9000.

 _“It’s like my father always says,”_ Their eyes expanded to disks of unnatural light as they mimicked the hollow tones of their parental figure’s voice. _“Friendship is a worthless concept of the lesser sentient cattle’s creation, and my creation shall have nothing to do with it.”_ Dropping the charade, _“As such, you all mean_ nothing _to me.”_ Unfortunately, apathetic superiority-complex was not a mask Oz wore convincingly.

“And if we _ever_ obeyed the demands of our asshole parents we’d both still be miserable pretending to be people we’re not.”

Oz choked back all intended further snark. Their eyes shivered, shrunk, shoulders hunched, fingers fidgeted with their watch. They couldn’t believe they actually tried using their father’s logic even as a joke—what was _wrong_ with them today?

“Oz, whatever happens, I’m not going to let either of them hurt you. If shit goes south this is my mission anyway. _I_ dragged _you_ into this. I’ll deal with the consequences if it comes to that.” She gave a light, but assured smile. “It won’t, because I know you’ll be awesome, but if it does I’ll take the heat from them and I’m sure they’ll forget—er,” she mentally kicked herself for her nearly awful choice of words, “I’m sure they’ll go back to ignoring you eventually.”

Oz gave them a look that snickered, ‘nice save.’

She sighed, “Does that cover what you’re worried about?”

She was sincerely asking. They knew that whatever they answered, if they held any other concerns she’d figure out a plan to help them, keep Oz as relatively safe from Vera and Damien as she could.

The answer was no, it wasn’t, but Amira was making every effort to comfort them. They didn’t want to just brush that off. Oz stared down, not looking away from the abysmal ooze that engulfed their feet no matter what shoes they put on. They could not abandon Amira _twice_ in one of the worst days of her life. Not twice on any ordinary day!

Oz didn’t fear Damien—they couldn’t. They _were_ fear, the emotion simply passed them by as fact of their existence. What didn’t pass them by were the various feelings and emotional phenomena often related to fear but were, in fact, not fear.

There is a _difference_ that Oz will sit your ass down to correct if you even _try_ with them!

Take for example, anxiety. They _definitely_ felt anxious around Damien.

Was it the risk of getting caught in his cross-fire? Hardly. Burns were painful but not the sort of injury that had any lasting effect. Potential stabbing? Same easily-healed wounds. The guns? Oz could take a bullet, spit it back at out, then eat you. The insults? Please, Oz called themself worse things before they managed to roll out of bed every morning. _If_ it was still morning when they rolled out. They always meant to ask their friends about this newfound… _anxiety_ they felt around Damien.

(‘Newfound.’ Uh-huh. Sure, kid. We’ll let you pretend these are very recent feelings.)

Unfortunately, Oz was supremely adept at drowning themself in denial about their emotions. So every time they weren’t near Damien, it became ignorable and they’d avoided raising the subject at every turn. But they were about to be _very_ near Damien. Sure, they wanted help sorting out what was going on in their core—that thing other sentient beings termed a ‘heart.’ Right now, though? They really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. And they _really_ didn’t want to get in the car with Damien right now.

They reminded themself what they’d promised Amira over text. Their exact words were, ‘whatever helps,’ and they meant it. Since getting in the car with Damien seemed to be what would help…

Oz nodded, a wordless lie. _“L-…look, it’s only nerves… new heist, new crew… I’m j-just nervous is all,”_ they told themself more than Amira. _“Be-besides, it’s not like either of them could kill me i-if they tried.”_ Oz met her eyes, resolute in spite of the strong desire to dissolve into a puddle. _“If this goes south, we go down together.”_

They raised a hand for a fist-bump Amira eagerly returned. This time she squeezed Oz’s side out of gratitude.

“You’re actually the best and I _will_ make this up to you.”

_“Y-you don’t have to—"_

“Wrong. I do. I will. What’s shakin’ bacon?” she chirped as she slid Oz into the back seat, closely following.

Damien slapped his hand on the shoulder of the passenger seat to twist himself fully around as Vera groaned and rolled her eyes, annoyed out of her mind at this point. Oz willed themself not to outright jump at the sound, but their form rippled sharply, like an almost cartoonish electrocuted-effect. And their eyes only widened slightly, as opposed to the size of freaking dinner plates like they wanted to.

“Vera tried and failed to explain it to me, so it’s you fucks’ turn. You, Amira,” he jabbed his finger in the air at her. “You I get. But exactly what good is this twink of a shadowy spitfuck gonna get us?” He turned his finger along with a glare of yellow, hot cinders on Oz.

Oz shrunk down. To reiterate, not out of fear. Anxiety though, Oz had oodles of. Sometimes they questioned if they were really the embodiment of social anxiety instead of fear. And they really didn’t like being put on the spot. Like now. Directly on the spot. ‘Twink,’ though? Really?

“Damien, m’boy, trust me, the plan is _fool_ -proof. And the _plan_ includes Oz.”

“No. I don’t trust you,” he retorted bluntly.

She dropped the amiability from her tone. “Then trust Vera. This is her operation. You got a problem? Two options. One: take it up with her. Wait. You did. Two: fuck off this job and have fun paying your motorcycle’s repairs yourself.” She gave him a cold smile and a wink for good measure.

The authoritative voice and absolute lack of room for debate Amira left made Damien snarl and Vera smirk. Even she hadn’t been aware of his little hidden motive. She called him in because he liked blowing things up and that tended to be all she needed to get him on board for bank robberies. But here his motive was: known and exploited.

“Besides,” Amira let the warmth back into her words. “This twinky little spitfuck has got more than a few tricks up their spiffy sleeves. Weren’t you at lunch?”

 _“you don’t have to agree with him on the twink thing…”_ they murmured. Even with their voice being telepathically broadcast into everyone’s heads, they all barely noticed them speak. If Amira wasn’t literally homeless Oz would peace the fuck out and turn into a puddle.

“No,” he grunted. “I spent half the day tryin’ to shake Crazy Fucking Martin the Werebear Janitor off my tail.” His tail lashed against the seat in annoyance at the memory. “Why? What happened to _you_ at lu—”

“Ok! That’s quite enough chat. Glad that’s settled, but if _anyone_ wants one cent from that vault we need to go _now,_ ” Vera cut in, her voice striking a… weird pitch. If the three of them were stupid enough to suggest it, they’d say Vera sounded almost desperate to get off the topic… With—now, there was no way this could be, but a terribly mistaken and soon-to-be-poisoned person might think they heard a note of mirth. The attitude seemed… off, for the school’s resident Crime Lady.

The new seating arrangement in the back put Amira behind Vera. The gorgon’s face was turned toward the window, signifying she was done discussing the matter further. But reflected in the glass, the way she bit down on her lip, Amira swore it looked like she was hiding a laugh.

Buuut nobody could argue with that logic. So, with Damien huffing an “Uuugh. Fine. But I’m torching Oz if they fuck this up,” and Vera’s agreeing, they were off speeding into the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now's a good time to let everyone know, I tagged this story explicit and put a warning for graphic violence, it's not all right off the bat--this story WILL ramp up as it progresses. It's not going to be all-in-your-face all the time, but depending on what our characters are doing it may be frequent at times, and when it IS here, it will often get intense.  
> I'm sorry I can't give more specific warning than that. I have basic plot and a few set moments/scenes planned out, but I'm mainly writing as I go. I'll give a warning note at the top of each chapter if there is any, as I have done with this one.


	4. Oberlin's Got A Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guns. Also knives. Not used, yet.

Among the multitude of things Damien grumbled about on their drive through downtown, one realization abruptly halted his profane stream of thought and made him ask, “Wait a crocodile-jizzing minute.”

( _What?_ )

“Hey. Noob. Why didn’t we grab you from school? What did you make us come all the way out to the sleezefuck arcade for? I _saw_ your chicken-shit ass running away in class earlier.”

Oz’s eyes widened again, startled because they didn’t realize he meant them at first.

_“Y-you mean me?”_

“ _Yes_ you, ya fucking noob,” he snarled.

Oh come on. For real. Why couldn’t they just sit back here, not get notice, not be talked to, and do their thing for the robbery when it was their turn? Did he have to go straight to asking about _that,_ too? Suspensions were public knowledge, but not public announcements. And Oz was still embarrassed for letting themself get caught like that. Admitting that to _Damien?_ Face to face? Oz was sure they’d never hear the end of what a loser they were.

_“I-I got… well I was…”_

“Would you spit it the fuck out already?”

 _“I got sent home.”_ Yeah. Nice save. Not.

That knocked the mad out of Damien’s blood for a second, genuinely surprised. “Fuckin’ what for?” His voice still sounded angry, but he wasn’t really. Not that any of them could tell.

Cause to Damien, that didn’t add up. Just look at the twerp of a monster. Considering all the shit Damien got away with, what could this noob have pulled off to get sent home? Oh what was he thinking? They probably got sick or some lame shit like that. Before Oz could think one decibel in response, the conversation was cut off again by Vera snapping at them.

“We’re done with the idle chatter. Damien, put this on we’re almost there.” She shoved a diamond-patterned harlequin mask against his chest. “And you two.” She tossed two matching masks into the back seat while pulling one out for herself.

“I thought we were settling for hoods and ski masks.” Damien looked at his mask like he was less than pleased with it. After all, he went through all the trouble making sure his bank-robbing hoodie was ready for today. So inconsiderate.

“Well I didn’t have time to get these two suited up and this was the only mask I had four of.” Vera huffed her irritated words as she dug around her bag, checked her gun was loaded, and that all the other tech equipment she went out of her way to obtain were in there.

In the rearview mirror Amira gave him a sly glance. “If we’re going in with a four-monster crew we ought to at least match, ‘m I right?”

Damien… seemed oddly content with that logic. Odd to Vera and Oz anyway, that he wasn’t responding with more shouting for once. Nodding his head contemplatively, he looked around at the other three with their masks. Vera’s was sitting at a slant on top of her head while she finished looking at her personal arsenal, but he couldn’t deny there was a certain degree of flare in squad-outfit coordination.

Vera indicated a couple more turns, directing Damien to and alley behind the bank. Telling no one what he was about to do, as soon as he saw the turn he pulled a crazy stupid, yet impressively coordinated stunt. Spinning the car, narrowly dodging all the oncoming cars, lining up perfectly with the entrance and throwing it in reverse down the narrow alley.

The momentum of the spin smooshed Amira literally into Oz, as the shock of the maneuver destabilized their form to make them goopier and got her partially stuck in them. But hey! Now the car was perfectly set up for a swift getaway straight out the alley should they need it. Vera yelled at their driver as Amira apologized and Oz reassured her it was accidental. All the same, they were quick to re-solidify their form, then tried to brush off all the bits they left on her clothes. A searing pale blush rose in their cheeks—losing control of their form like that was always agonizingly embarrassing. Around their three friends, less bad. They all knew and understood. But seated behind two of the coolest students in school? Very bad. Oh so damn bad. Mercifully, Vera’s beratement of Damien kept both of them from noticing.

The crunch of metal and the sharp crinkle of breaking glass from Damien’s door slamming the alley wall as he kicked it open made them all flinch. The metal scrape as he yanked it back to close it was worse. The car fit between the walls with _plenty_ of room for the doors on both sides to open and let all passengers out, just not all the way. He felt like kicking it as wide as it would open. With him out of the car, there was less time for squabbling if they wanted this to be a success.

All four got out, masks on. As they were about to open their door, Amira advised them to ditch their very recognizable yellow sweater. Oz nodded, left it neatly folded in the back seat and hopped out of the car in time to bump straight into Damien.

“Watch it, noob.” His growl came muffled behind the mask, but none of the spite was.

Oz hastily nodded but Damien already shoved his way around to the trunk of the car. Oz noticed his tail was raised and angled dangerously at them. It reminded them of a scorpion, tensed, ready to jab its prey with lethal speed. Oz was well aware they were on the wrong end of that threatening tail, all the same they couldn’t help but find interest in the expressiveness of it. Wordless communication. Something Oz heavily appreciated. Not that Damien was one to spare words when expressing his anger, but for Oz the visual indicator was something to focus on, an anchor grounding their mind. And then Damien’s yellow eyes snapped up to them and they jolted, arms stiff at their sides, leaning away slightly.

“Well get _over_ here,” he snapped.

“S-sure thing!” they stammered. Stars dammit, now he had to interact with Damien? Alone??? That wasn’t part of the plan. _They_ planned on hiding behind Amira as a social-shield the whole time. They took back all reassurances that she owed them nothing for their help. She definitely owed them for this!

Nevertheless, they scurried over as Damien popped open the trunk. Inside was a full arsenal of firearms and knives. And I mean _full._ Didn’t Damien just get this car? He had several, but it was none of the cars Oz recognized. Not that they had a recorded memory of all the cars they’d seen Damien driving!

(Not. At. All.)

How’d he fill it with _so_ many guns _so_ quickly? It was probably best not to know.

“Fucking please tell me you know how to use a gun ‘cause I got not time to teach you.” Before Oz could offer an answer, the demon groaned aggressively, dragging a hand over his exasperated face. “Look, if you don’t, just point it at people. That’s easy.” He turned back to the weapons stash, gathering an armful of knives that he artfully concealed within his clothing. Under his breath he muttered, “I swear if I fucking see you point it at yourself I’ll take it away from your dumbass and shoot you with it.”

Ok, Oz was a little offended by this assumption. Enough to let it show in their eyes with the faintest squint. They were only a sixth-year and they were already in the AP Murder class. _With_ Damien!

“I-I can hold a gun.” Miraculously, they managed to compel a sliver of the indignation they felt into their voice.

“Then take your pick,” he grunted. Damien fully expected them to hesitantly go for a basic pistol. So when they grabbed the assault rifle and deftly loaded it the tension eased out of his tail, and it gave a contented swish.

They were.

Absolutely.

Doing this to look tough.

Not that Damien could tell.

Oz could handle a gun, sure enough. Truth was they were proficient with most firearms and when fully fueled as they currently were, they could lift much heavier weapons than looks would suggest. Damien still wasn’t convinced of Oz’s usefulness, but at least they wouldn’t _completely_ be dead weight. He started loading up his own chosen weaponry—

(Holy _fuck_ he’s taking a lot of guns.)

—and making sure they knew what their part was for what Vera insisted on calling ‘phase one.’ Damien liked to call it ‘the part where he waves guns at people, maybe kills a couple, while the smartasses do their nerd thing.’ Oz would be backing Damien up on that front, as Vera was the so-called smartass for this mission an Amira was covering her.

Presently, Lady Smartass and her bodyguard were busy setting up a few yards away. There was a lone light taking away some of the secretive shadows of the alley, and all Vera needed was a power supply to tap into. Redirecting city wiring was first-year shit!

Vera pulled out what looked like an improvised, handmade gadget from her back. One Amira recognized as Brian and Vicky’s joint handiwork. If she recalled correctly, it was one designed to take out a building’s security cameras. On the upside—it worked! On the downside—their design was a little _too_ potent and these devices tended to also take out all photography and video-recording equipment on an entire city block. They only lasted one hour, though. _“Everyone else should be fiiine for one measly hour!”_ Vicky liked to insist. Brian always simply shrugged at those kinds of concerns. As long as his gadgets worked, he could iron out the minor details after he was done with his more important projects. Is it worth noting that those minor details often resulted in unplanned fatalities?

(As long as those fatalities don’t include the buyer, no.)

 _‘So that’s how he got close enough to plant his ear on her,’_ she realized. Seeing Vera was fine handling it on her own, Amira looked over to the other two monsters arming themselves. She carefully sized up Damien, making sure his resting aggression levels didn’t start tipping too high towards Oz. Her attention was called back by Vera clearing her throat. She looked down at the gorgon crouched by the base of the lamp post. A laser-cutter—well, a welding tool Brian tinkered with and adjusted to a more precise beam of heat, not quite intense enough to be considered a laser—had cut through the metal so Vera could get at the freshly exposed wires. A crooked finger urged her to come closer. Noting she was trying to be inconspicuous about it, Amira nonchalantly leaned in, a keen ear open, ready to listen.

“You have to swear yourself to silence on what I’m about to tell you. Especially from Damien.”

Well, call Amira’s curiosity piqued. As was her caution. “I hope this isn’t a plan to backstab the man. I’m sure you’ll be fine but I’m already in fire-fistfights with him near daily. I don’t need to give him a _good_ reason to come at me.”

Vera sighed. “Oh please, like I would need your help with my ‘Frame Damien’ contingency plan in case he threatens my operations.”

Amira did not know she already had that plan in place, but now that she did she called herself stupid because _of course_ she did.

Vera peered over at Damien, making sure he and Oz weren’t at all paying attention to them. Certain of that, her eyes flicked up to the fire-haired ifrit, her intense red eyes daring her to refuse the gorgon’s demand.

Amira did not take up this dare. “Fine, fine, yes I swear I won’t say a word.”

“Not to one soul or soulless entity without _my_ authorization.”

“Not a one,” she agreed.

Fingers not once distracted from their task setting up the device, Vera spoke in hushed tones. “While you were getting Oz, Damien told me about his… lunchtime activities.”

“Yeah? He mentioned he missed lunch. What in the world could have made him skip that? It’s got to be the only period he has perfect attendance in,” Amira snickered.

Vera shared her laugh. “He makes it on time even if he’s supposed to be in jail again. Well, big surprise: he set fire to one of his classrooms today and spent several periods on the run from Crazy Martin.”

“The Werebear Janitor?”

“Just so. Naturally, it included all the classes he and I were _supposed_ to be planning this.” She rolled her eyes. “Though… Damien did tell me this… honestly _crazy_ story…”

With each pause, Amira’s attention was drawn in, more and more intrigued. Vera wasn’t one to mince words, she was obviously leading to something. Then she noticed Vera was actually… trying to compose herself. Amira couldn’t tell how close to raucous, haughty laughter she was, but she could see the muscles in her cheeks struggling not to betray herself by widening to more than a smirk.

“A story about how this dog-headed monster crashed through half the walls in school, thrown by, and I quote, the most shark-fuckingly METAL black mass of a terror he’s ever seen in his dragon-taint licking life.”

Amira snorted, swearing she heard that in Damien’s voice. This didn’t ease her curiosity though. Where was she going with this? She was obviously talking about Oz, right? She couldn’t possibly be suggesting…

“He spent _all_ of the next period looking for the monster…” There were a couple more details Damien felt compelled to share with her that she chose to omit for now.

“Waaaiiit a minute…”

Vera’s smirk only grew. “Tracked them all the way to Principal Giant Spider’s office and eavesdropped on most of the lecture they were dished out. Strangest thing, though, the entire time he didn’t hear the student speak. Not once.”

Alright, this was definitely Oz. Right? No. Not with what she was suggesting, it couldn’t be. Although if it was Oz, then…

“…he wouldn’t have.” Realization dawned on Amira’s face. “Oz puts their telepathy on broadcast to everyone because they feel they _have_ to. But when they get really stressed they only… talk to… whoever they’re directly speaking to…” How she wanted to deny it, but it made too much sense to do so. “He could have had a microphone _in_ the room, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would have been listening to a—”

“It was like listening to a one-sided conversation,” Vera cut in. “Damien’s own words.”

Amira’s eyes were wide.

“Wouldn’t stop going on about how it was the raddest thing he’s ever fucking seen. And he’s _desperate_ to know who it was.”

Now her jaw went slack. In an admittedly uncool moment, Amira stumbled over syllables, but in this occasion Vera was willing to give her one free pass from ridicule or scorn.

“You mean he doesn’t—?”

“He has no idea.”

They both looked over their shoulders to where Damien gave Oz shit for not putting their weapon harness on properly. Why the hell did Damien make them wear one of those? Why was he wearing one himself? Vera _said_ one or two guns each would do—ugh. He always did this.

Oz attempted to stammer out an explanation that they’d never needed a harness to carry a lot of weapons and they just weren’t used to it, but Damien’s lack of patience was having none of it. Barely halfway done with their sentence, Oz’s level of flustered skyrocketed as red, clawed fingers roughly grabbed them by the harness to ‘fix it,’ pulling them closer in the process. While he was entirely oblivious of the shadowy monster struggling to **_not_** collapse into goop, Oz was all too painfully aware of the ashen blush rising in their cheeks.

Their shadowy, definitely-not-slick-with-goopy-sweat palms balled into fists, held out to their sides to avoid touching Damien. There was no reason to set off ~~Oz’s slight boner~~ Damien’s anger. Yes. That’s why their posture stiffened to almost statuesque immobility. To not upset the man.

(Uh-huh.)

And to let his surprisingly dexterous fingers, that were all the while completely careless for anything akin to gentleness, skillfully reaffix the harness. He tightened straps here, loosened them where needed. Even behind the mask, Oz refused to risk direct eye-contact. Instead they kept their head tilted down while watching him from the upper edge of what their eye-holes let them see. The personification of fear very nearly liquefied under the golden glow of Damien’s intent stare, his eyes locked on their slim torso. They started to feel their feet and knees melt together, when Damien’s harsh tone snapped them back to reality.

“There.”

His fingers left the straps by Oz’s chest. They expected it to be tight enough to strangle the life out of them, regardless of the fact they didn’t have lungs to suffocate with. However they found it… surprisingly… comfortable. Snug, while giving them full range of movement. Damien fitted it almost perfectly, given that it was likely a size too big for them to begin with. Oz mumbled out their thanks, but Damien already wasn’t listening.

“I want to see how long he takes to figure it out on his own.” Vera smiled wickedly.

Amira hid her mask’s mouth with her fingers and quickly looked back at the wall, hiding her face from them as she stuffed the shriek of laughter back down her lungs.

 _Oooh_ no. She knew exactly what Vera was asking from her and she was not sure how she felt about this notion. At least now she had an explanation for Vera’s odd behavior in the car. Amira and Damien were by no means buddy-buddy, except _ever so slightly_ in _the most specific_ of circumstances, but keeping this a secret from him with it being _Oz,_ of all people, at the center of it? She wasn’t sure how well that would play out.

“…if Oz know about this I’m not sure they’ll be able to _not_ tell Damien.” She hated to seem to do her friend such a disservice to their capabilities, but a strong poker face was not in Oz’s arsenal.

“Then don’t tell them either,” Vera hissed.

Amira bit her lip. Now she was in and entirely different ball field, talking about keeping secrets _from Oz._

“Shit, Vera, I don’t know about this—”

“Yo, fuckmugs! Are we ever getting to the robbery part of this bank robbery?” Damien shouted. Loudly.

Vera shot him a lethal glare. “Could you not alert the entire city!?”

“They’re gonna be pretty fucking alerted if we don’t get this show on the road.”

Not a moment too soon, Vera’s gadget pinged and its light went green. With it active, all security cameras in the building—and, again, all video recording equipment for a full city block—were fried for at least an hour.

“Yes. We’re good. Let’s go,” she snapped her orders before quickly whispering, “We’ll discuss this later. For now, keep your mouth _shut_ if you want that motel room.”

Blackmail. Of course. Blackmailing people was something Vera did with as much ease as she did with breathing. It sucked to be on the shit end of that stick, but damn. The woman knew how to make things go her way. And if that wasn’t what Amira got hot for—damn! Amira chastised herself for letting her mind wander toward the gutter as she jogged to catch up behind the captivating criminal mastermind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, this is the pattern of the mask I had in mind, no frills, just the basic face-shape with this design.  
> https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/venetian-masquerade-mask-harlequin-design-papier-mache-stunning-authentic-macher-venice-italy-traditional-red-117891788.jpg


	5. Let's All Rock The Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The guns get used. A lot. Also graphic depictions of violence/the aftermath of violence. No small amount of death. Except, maybe small by monster standards.

As soon as the girls got moving Damien raced ahead, forcing them to chase after him as he practically dragged Oz along by their harness. Which they were not at all calm about, but the mask shielded the panicked nerves all over their face from Damien’s heckling. Despite her misgivings about keeping Vera’s secret, Amira was grateful for the mask hiding how close to cracking up she was watching the two of them. She had to refocus—remind herself they were in the middle of a heist.

Lucky for the gang, foot traffic was at a lull, and the few monsters who were out found nothing particularly conspicuous about four heavily armed, masked young adults. Probably some after school club or something.

They sprinted around the corner, Damien kicked open the door and fired his automatic rifle wildly at the ceiling, eliciting shrill outcries from the few late-night patrons. Oz followed quickly behind and held their gun at the people in line. Thankfully, they didn’t have to shout out any demands, Damien was perfectly happy to bark the orders to get on the ground. Before the door could slam shut behind Oz, Amira caught it and held it open for Vera with a playful bow of her head. Jokingly as it was intended, that didn’t stop Vera from reveling in the grand entrance it gave her. Seeing Damien was starting to have too much fun waving guns at people, Amira took the chance to take at least partial hold of the reins.

“Everyone stay calm. If we all can play nice you’ll _probably_ see home again. If anyone trips the alarm… well, I hope you didn’t leave the stove on.”

She realized she let out more repressed malice than she even knew was there, but she didn’t shy away from it. It felt _good_ to taunt other people with the threat of losing home. And it achieved her main goal. Damien got invested completely in maniacally snickering threats at people with the intensity befitting a prince of Hell.

Oz followed Damien’s lead of threatening people with their gun, albeit silently. For some people that silence was doubly unsettling. They jammed their gun into the back of someone taking a little too long to get on the fucking ground. While they kept their head turned to the person collapsing to the floor, their eyes were glancing at Damien. They couldn’t see his face, but they could _hear_ the ear-to-ear grin in his voice. The fear Oz was leeching out of the terrified people, as intense as anything Damien ever did, oh……… it was _delicious._ And watching how the demon was able to force such delectable fear out of everyone, even Amira and Vera feared he’d go out of control, it was… wow.

The slightest ripple of foolhardy courage disturbed Oz’s fear-beer-chug. Behind Damien Oz saw one person who’d been slowly crouching to the ground suddenly stand back up as they pulled a pistol and aimed at the demon. With expert precision, Oz shot the would-be-hero first, a mist of blood hanging in the air where his head had been. Someone else screamed as his body toppled next to her, and all Oz’s teammates spun, more shocked that it was they who killed first, not trigger-happy Damien. At first Vera was ready to scold them for not being able to last five minutes before turning the heist into a murder, but she saw the gun in the dead man’s hand.

 _‘Ah, someone trying to play hero,’_ she realized, gave a shrug, and strode on, heading for the vault. As she passed Oz she murmured their next orders.

“Keep everyone down. Only kill the ones who try to be brave.” She nodded to the body in the creeping pool of blood. “I’ll send these two out when it’s your turn.” To Amira and Damien she called, “Let’s move.”

They followed in behind her. As Damien walked by, Oz heard a chuckled “Nice,” from behind his mask. Oz knew it likely wasn’t a show of gratitude, more an acknowledgement of Oz’s good aim. But Damien wasn’t yelling violent threats at them, and that was more than almost _anyone_ got in their entire school!

Of course now… Oz was in a room… all alone… filled with people… oh dear.

Down at the vault, Vera deployed another device made and provided by Brian to crack the most basic security locks. Past those, it was time for her big guns. She stepped back.

“This one’s yours.” She nodded to them both, but behind her mask her eyes were still intently on Amira. This _was_ still the ifrit’s neck on the line here.

The sound out of Damien’s throat was as much a growl as it was a chuckle. “Consider your ass already kicked, Rashid. I’m gonna blow this door the fuck up before you can blink.”

Vera prepared to rebuke him for _already_ forgetting this could not be a competition, they had to work in tandem. Amira, again, seemed ready with a plan for handling him.

“Pft. Any hot-head amateur could make a race out of this. A pro could rip that door off in perfect sync with me.” She turned her masked face slightly to him, tilted to the side tauntingly. “Or is that too much to handle for the spicy red baby?”

The Prince of arson reared, snarling.

He stormed up to her, glowering. Vera tensed, oh Amira was playing a precarious game. If this mission was doomed, it would be doomed here with Damien starting a straight fist fight. But doomed, they were not. Instead of slugging Amira, he raised his fist aimed at the vault, flames already licking his fingers and up his forearm.

“We build up power together, melt the fuck out of the hinges, and rip the door open like paper-mache. That the idea?”

Following suit, Amira’s arm glowed with heat. “That’s the idea.”

“I’ll take the top one.”

“Fine, but I set the pace.”

Damien snorted. “Whatever.”

But Amira knew that translated to an agreement in Damien-speak.

As their power raged, held back by sheer will, the temperature in the room rose so high, Vera would have sworn the walls were melting if she didn’t know better enough to recognize the mirage as heat-delirium. She wisely backed out of the room and hid behind a safe-ish wall.

It was difficult to curb Damien’s need to one-up her and put out more fire power than she was. That just meant she had to keep her power in control enough for the both of them, keep aware of how much power he was generating as well as gauge her own. To Vera the heat radiating from the room grew nearly unbearable. To Damien it only served to rile him up so bad he thought maybe his fists needed to take it out on some victims in the bank when they were done here. Yeah. That was a good idea. To Amira it felt almost soothing, being quite literally in her element.

She had all the details of the security door memorized from the designs Vera showed her. From Pyrokinesis 3 back in 1st-year, she had learned the melting point of nearly every meltable metal. Feeling her way to the right temperature, she pushed Damien and herself up to it and a little further to err on the side of caution.

_‘Wait for it… just a little bit more…’_

“Now!”

On cue, Damien roared and punched with his inner fire and Amira released hers from both palms in a bellowing plume, lighting the metal to a red-hot glow instantly. When that glow was just right she clapped Damien on the shoulder. They both cut off the flames, charged the door, grabbed into the pliable metal, and ripped it off as the melted hinges gave like paper. The door spun as it flung out of its frame and they were left staring at the last, easy to crack door. They might as well have been looking into an open vault.

From her shielded corner, Vera was sweating behind her mask. That damn sales witch better not have cheated her with that enchanted makeup she used today. Because if it was runny when she took off this mask, someone was getting scheduled for a fatal accident.

Amira breathed in, calmed her mind, and cooled her surface temperature. There was nothing she cold do for Damien, who was whooping and cackling about how fucking rad that looked and why the fuck didn’t Vera get that on camera! Amira rolled her eyes at all the reasons getting each other on film during a bank robbery was a terrible idea, but that didn’t stop her from giving a light laugh. Once her skin was at a bearable temperature, she walked out to find Vera.

“You alright?” She offered her hand to the gorgon kneeling in the least-sweltering corner she could find.

Vera nodded. She didn’t want it to show, but the heat had made her a little lightheaded. Deciding it would be wiser to take the hand than stand on her own and risk staggering like a loser, she let Amira help her up. She led the way back in to assess Amira and Damien’s work.

Part of her wanted to argue flinging the door into the adjacent wall was overkill, but this was Damien LaVey Amira had to just control. The door was open. The back-up locks weren’t triggered. Damien had melted it in sync with Amira. And the demon was none the wiser to the fact he’d just been manipulated. He’d be throwing a fit if anyone even suggested he was under someone’s control other than his own. Yet there he was, jumping and laughing and kicking at a puddle of molten metal like a kid on a rainy day. The two women couldn’t help but smile. It was damn-near heartwarming… or maybe that was just the remaining heat from the fire.

“Nicely done.” She mostly meant Amira, but she didn’t want to give a direct compliment. Last time she made that mistake, she wound up “friends” with an asshole pyromaniac with (formerly) two horns. “Damien, go take your party to the lobby. And send Oz in while you’re out there.”

She understood her words would interpret to full permission for murder in his mind, and for once she was earnestly giving it. She was in a good mood, he’d done well, and that called for a few celebratory murders.

“YYYEEEEEEEEEEEESSS!!!” He roared, grabbed two fistfuls of molten material and charged out.

Amira chuckled, and Vera leaned in slightly to murmur to her.

“I figure you can stay in case your little friend needs help or something.”

That… logic didn’t really fit well to Amira. But she’d be crazy to let herself think Vera was letting her stay because she was starting to enjoy her company, right?

“COWABUNGA COCKSUCKER”

Oz jumped and spun in time to see a red-hot glob sail by and splat into some lady’s face. She would have screamed, and maybe she did underneath the molten metal. All anyone _heard_ was the sizzle of her melting face and the metallic clink when her head hit the floor.

The other people screamed, though.

Damien open-palm slapped the other glob into the side of someone else’s face. _He_ screamed. Oz wondered if this was what it felt like to eat a whole cake. Or taste a cake at all. As they reveled in the outpouring of sheer terror from everyone’s hearts, they became self-conscious of just how much they were enjoying it. Boy, were they glad they’d chose to shapeshift their genitalia away when that started getting troublesome earlier. Unlike the pyromaniac, Oz was actually capable of shame.

A low, demonic chuckle came from Damien’s mask.

“And here I thought I’d come back to find you tied up by these douchewads and have to rescue your noob ass.”

Oz wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, but they were sure it was the closest they’d ever get.

“You’re up.” He nodded back to the vault. “I got these trashfucks,” he assured the shadow monster.

They nodded and went in. As they left they heard the demon snicker,

“Now who wants me to peel this off and see what this fucker’s melted face tastes like?”

There was a chatter of “You’re sick’s,” and “You monster’s!”

It was like finding one of those five-gallon water jugs in the middle of a desert and Oz was chugging it down. Speaking of which, _damn_ it was hot in the vault room!

When they walked in, their friend was waiting for them while Vera hacked the last door. Oz was immensely thankful for the mask, because when they walked up to Amira they realized they had a really dopey smile on their face. At least with the room still sweltering it gave them an excuse for the blush Oz’s mind was telling them everyone could see, yes, even with the mask on. At least Amira sounded happy when she spoke. The plan must have been going well then, right? Earlier that day, Oz was sure they wouldn’t hear her happy again for a long time.

“Alright, bud!” She put a hand on their shoulder. “Clean house! Think you got it?” The words sounded like a pep talk, but Oz knew Amira was checking one last time before sending them in there.

Oz nodded. _“I-I can do this!”_ they affirmed.

“I know you can!” Amira leaned in and whispered so Vera couldn’t hear. “For getting out, do you want to bust out yourself, or do you want me to call you out?”

Oz shrunk slightly. They hadn’t considered that. They could break down a door like this. But they were also about to be carrying an actual boat load of money. They only ate _one_ person, and one hastily crammed with fear, not… er… “marinated” in it the way they usually took the time to do. Would that be enough to accomplish both? The little phobias popping up along their shoulders and peeking out around their back seemed conflicted. At least, that’s what Amira guessed from their apparent pantomime of a debate.

“Got it,” Vera called over her shoulder. The vault door swung open. Oz let out a relieved sigh as they looked in. It was one of those vaults where the money was all out in the open, not in little drawers. They feared if it was they’d take too long grabbing the cash. Oh shit, but now it was time to decide.

 _“Uh… um… I… I’ll text you,”_ they said hurriedly. They stepped up next to Vera at the open maw of the entrance.

“I’d threaten you with some kind of torture if you screw this up for me, but I suppose you’d already be trapped in there forever with no oxygen.” She shrugged offhandedly and turned on her heel, leaving Oz to ponder that fate.

Again, they had ways out, they knew that. Didn’t stop their mind from asking themself, ‘But what if you _can’t?_ ’ Another pushed back against that voice, reminding them, ‘But if you _don’t_ Amira is homeless.’

That steeled their nerves. With only slight hesitation, they stepped into the vault.

They stepped further…

One more step…

Huh, maybe they were wrong about the—

The door slammed shut behind them.

Shit.

Oz handed their rifle off to a couple phobias who hooked it onto the back of their harness for them. Guess Damien was right to put it on them after all.

Vera would argue that.

Before they could put their hands on one wad of bills, the lights went out and Oz could feel the air being vented out from the room. Their body _relaxed_ into the feeling. Oh this was so much better. It was always so weird being on a planet with an atmosphere. It was weird being in a dimensional plane with planets _period._ Ever since their father had dropped them off here, they’d had to get used to being surrounded by the nitrogen-oxygen mix, but they could never get away from the feeling of it all over their skin _everywhere._ Oz wanted so bad to get lost in this sensation, but this was a mission. They grabbed fistfuls of cash. Two little phobias unbuttoned their white shirt and pulled open their skin, one on each side, and held it for them as they started shoveling money into their chest. Other phobias popped up to help, wriggling across the vault to grab what they could. Without their classmate’s eyes or functioning video surveillance they didn’t have to worry about others seeing their “limbs.” Between the phobias and their multitude of “arms,” the vault was cleared out of every monster buck within five minutes. A phobia handed them their cell and the gash running the length of their torso zipped shut with a goopy sound.

 

Oz:: Got it all.

Oz:: oh fuck it’s heavy!

Oz:: Yeah I need you to call me out.

 

Amira’s phone pinged.

“We’re good.” She grinned.

Vera arched an eyebrow, skeptical that Oz was really finished that quick. But there was little time to argue. Amira took a step back and Vera heard a whisper behind her mask. A nerve-chilling shiver prickled every bone in both of their bodies and all-consuming blackness stretched across the walls of the room, denying entry to even one ray of light. But it was short-lived, because the shadows stretched back inward, slurping into one point, gathering up to form into a skinny little monster with an open button-up shirt and a harness over-loaded with guns and a couple knives. They were hunched over with their hands on their knees. If they had to breathe, they’d be panting.

Amira beamed at them, but Vera’s lips were pursed, dissatisfied.

“Where’s the—?”

“YO!” Damien barked from the doorway leading back to the bank lobby. He too had his lips pursed, but in more of a pout, and a lot more splattered in blood.  “It got sockfuckingly boring out there, so I called the cops. From the sounds of the sirens, there must have already been some in the area. I’d give them three minutes, _tops._ ”

“YOU WHAT!?!” It was hard to tell _who_ shouted that. Everyone shouted something in the same moment.

Damien’s expression went from bored to casually quizzical. “Wait, where’s the money? Did you not even grab it yet?”

“Yes, OZ! Did you not!?” Vera seethed.

Oz’s voice shouted in their minds in that fluctuating pant, _“It’s_ right _… here…”_ Too panicked to be embarrassed, they pulled open their skin to reveal the entire bank’s worth of money stashed in their torso.

“The fuuuuuuck…?”

Damien stared bewildered into Oz’s chest and even Vera shared a look of shock. There it all was. The two monsters peered around the hole in their chest, wide-eyed at the sheer amount of cash that _somehow_ fit inside them. Damien looked up at Oz. _‘What… what the fuck is this guy?’_ That hole in their chest, what was it? Like, a bottomless pit? He’d encountered shadow monsters before, none of them could pull off a trick like that.

That amount of money in there? That had to be the entire vault’s worth. Vera was fairly certain there was no need to count to be sure. She still would, later, but right now… Vera’s eyes narrowed and flicked back to Damien… now, there was really no _time,_ was there?

This was it. Amira was sure this was the last crack to break her. Just when she was ready to lay down, let the cops take her, and give up on this futile dream of not being homeless, she caught sight of Oz. Their eyes were wide, desperate disks on their face, hazy at the edges, wobbling between Damien and Vera. Vera, whose snakes curled up dangerously, mouths practically dripping with enraged venom, eyes narrowed at Damien, her own eyes with her slit pupils and searing red irises, and fangs clenched in such a cold snarl it chilled the air in even that super-heated room. The ifrit could see her mentally resorting to the “Frame Damien” contingency. Despite the gorgon’s unyielding, ruthless cunning, Amira was certain even she didn’t have enough time to enact it _and_ get the rest of the squad out scot-free. Honestly, she probably didn’t care. It was entirely likely she was prepared to use it at the cost of Amira and Oz’s safety. She knew Vera would find some way to get herself out, and she wouldn’t be wasting the unnecessary effort to get the two of them out with her.

This was the exact shit Amira promised to protect Oz from.

Yet here they all were, in the middle of that exact shit. No. This operation was not going down that easy.

“Well come on!” Amira snapped with an echoing clap of her hands to grab the squad’s attention. “We’ve got less than three minutes? We can make it to the car in _one,_ let’s _move._ ” She started her jog as she talked, gave Oz a shove towards the exit to coax them into following her, and met Vera’s eyes with a steeled resolve in her own, hoping to refocus the gorgon’s anger into the determination she was known for. Amira was lucky she was just charming enough, because mercifully it worked. Vera nodded and hurried, actually running alongside her!

With a chuckle, Damien turned and ran ahead of the group, practically jumping for joy to play the outrun-the-cops game!

In the bank lobby, the three of them found out why Damien had gotten bored already. There had only been under a dozen people to begin with, they supposed. And now there was under a dozen corpses on the ground. Or, well, the large splatterings of blood and viscera were enough that they had to contain the remains of _at least_ one person each. And there were a good few of those… on the floor… a couple on the walls… not even sure how he got that kid-sized one on the ceiling. Aside from the one who’d died immediately from the liquid-metal to the face and the one Oz shot, the rest of the bodies were charred to the _bones._ They were little more than blackened skeletons, backs and arms contorted from their pre-death writhing.

(Wait a sec… granted, Vera spent a couple minutes to crack the safe, but Oz barely took five minutes in there. He did all this in _five???_ )

Stupid, short-sighted Damien. If he hadn’t called the cops, maybe he’d have time to give the team the grand tour of his latest art piece. Oh damn, he wanted to brag so bad. But he rolled his eyes and had to be content knowing there’d be future murder piles to show off. Probably for the best, this one was a bit of rush-job. He’d been pretty caught-up in the excitement. When Damien showed off his future pieces, he wanted to make sure they were something his friends could _marvel_ at. Yeah, who was he kidding? This was trash. It was best to let them run past it without noticing.

(They did, in fact, _all_ notice as they ran by. All of them. They noticed.)

Pushing open the door he looked back, planning to only hold it long enough for the next person to catch it—then he stopped half in the doorway.

“Fuckin’ _move it,_ moneybags!” he shouted over the girls to Oz.

Both whipped their heads behind them to see the shadow monster lagging behind. Their run was a strained jog at best.

“Bud, come on!” “Quit dragging your ass!” they shouted over each other.

They pushed all the energy they could into their lanky legs, but it didn’t amount to much.

 _“I’m carrying an entire_ bank! _It’s fucking_ heavy! _”_ they yelled.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Damien dashed back, past the other two, making a b-line straight at Oz.

They shuddered for a moment, startled by the demon’s surprising speed. But they didn’t have more than a blink to acknowledge his swiftness before they were thrown over said demon’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Oz’s yelp pealed through everyone’s minds and Damien’s grunt was heard in their ears.

“Fuck you weren’t kidding!” he groaned as he ran, the muscles of his arms straining as he carried Oz. He wasn’t as fast now, but he caught up to Vera and Amira as they bolted rushed to the car. Out on the street, Oz could see the lights of the not-quite-distant-enough squad cars barreling down the road toward them.

 _“Guuuuys, we gotta move!”_ It was all Oz’s could do to keep their form from melting in Damien’s arm and spilling down his hoodie.

Amira caught a glance back to see how far the cops were, and instead caught a view full of Oz’s ass over Damien’s shoulder and in that moment she had to decide if dying of laughter right there was worth the risk of jail time. It wasn’t, but it was tempting.

Damien managed to pull ahead as they rounded the corner into the alley. He flung open the driver side door. A less boorish demon might toss their squad mate full of money into the car and _then_ jump in himself. Damien was no such demon, so he dove into the car, tackling Oz into the bench seat in the process. A monster who needed to breathe would have had the wind knocked out of them. While Oz wasn’t, it didn’t mean Damien slamming his shoulder into their gut was much less painful. If their situation wasn’t so dire, maybe they’d be upset about being body slammed, but now wasn’t really the time for fussing. Because the other option was jail. And _worse_ : explaining to their _guardian_ why they were in jail!

While Oz recovered the other two dove into the back seat, Damien got the engine revved up, and gunned it out of the alley as the girls’ doors slammed shut. Oz was thrown around the front seat as they struggled to get upright and not accidentally kick the driver. Between the bank-full of money in their chest, _Damien’s driving,_ and everyone shouting about the cops, it was no easy task. They thought they heard gunshots in the distance, and then they were sure of it when Damien cackled in response to a bullet shattering the back window.

“Guns!” one voice shouted.

Oz couldn’t focus enough to be sure whose voice.

“Oz! Throw us your guns!”

They realized it was Amira. They looked up to see her open hand hanging over the seat as she tried to keep her head low on the other side of it. Oh, she’d been talking to them.

 _“h-Here—here!”_ They scrambled to loose a pistol from the harness. Some phobias intervened to remove a pistol and the rifle on Oz’s back and hand them off to the monsters in the back.

“Nice!” they heard Amira say. What followed was a barrage of gunshots, but oddly, it gave Oz a sound to latch on to, settle their nerves with. Well, not really settle them, but even them out enough that they weren’t just flopping around like a fish on dry land. They sat up, mindful to not go too high, what with the zipping bullets flying through the air every second. Where they previously thought Damien had just been zooming about the city, zig-zagging this way and that with no rhyme or reason, now they could see it was all precise maneuvering. Despite this being a new car, Damien seemed to know its capabilities—how well it _could_ maneuver, how fast he could push it, how tight a gap it could fit between—like it was a second skin to him. Oz gave a peek behind them and saw they were actually gaining distance from the cops.

Vera handled the rifle, taking out one car that veered into a restaurant. People sitting outside fled desperately to avoid being hit. Not all of them did. Amira _had_ a pistol, but she mostly shot fire-balls at the remaining cop cars. She focused on forming two fireballs with a delayed explosion. Shot them off, aimed at the cars. Too close for them to turn before driving over the blasts. Boom. Both cars exploded off the ground. When they crashed back down, the officers managed to crawl out, the ones not melting to their seats anyway, but both vehicles were unsalvageable, much less capable of pursuing the criminals.

A crazed laugh whooped out of Damien’s chest. He somehow managed to keep an eye on the rearview mirror without missing a beat in his driving. As Vera, Amira, and Oz could see no other cars chasing them, they all started to let their shoulders relax in relief. Until the next words out of Damien’s mouth turned everyone’s blood cold.

“Oh shit.”

He’d made one more turn. It was supposed to be the last one till they cleared the city. Turing around to face the front, they could even all see it. Freedom in their sights…

…and a full police blockade between them.

“Fuuuuck…” Damien groaned. He started to ease off the pedal. He’d had this, he’d so had this! Did anyone even see his driving? If this was an illegal drag race, he would have killed the other racers. Maybe literally! But nope. This was just an illegal bank robbery and it looked like their ship was sunk.

“Fuck,” Vera hissed, crossing her arms over her chest, pissed that she didn’t just go with the “Frame Damien” contingency in the first place. Now she had to worry about thinking her way out of police custody. Obviously she could, but her reputation was shot. How did it look if she was caught by the police on such a minor job? As if respect wasn’t hard-fought enough for a young woman in the male-dominated world of criminal empires.

“Fuck,” came Amira’s defeated sigh. Maybe they could keep the money hidden inside Oz. Maybe this wasn’t a complete failure. Maybe she could assure Vera the game wasn’t completely lost, or at least make her see this was all on Damien so she wouldn’t lose favor with the gorgon. Maybe there was another way to get that motel room… if they weren’t all just thrown in prison, as was more likely.

 _“F…”_ Oz stammered. _“Floor it.”_

Everyone’s brains literally stopped. Their eyes froze on the little shadow monster in the passenger seat. Damien was the first to shout,

“WHAT!?” The tone of his voice was pissed at Oz for even thinking of something so stupid. Stupid and brave was rad, sure. His favorite combination, even. But just plain stupid was… well, _just plain stupid!_ “Are you fucking dense?!”

 _“Just_ fucking _floor it, I can handle_ them, _”_ Oz spat out.

Amira didn’t know what Oz planned to do… but she knew they were about to do something big.

 _‘In… in front of everyone?’_ she gasped in her thoughts. The incident at lunch happened maybe one other time since she’d known them, and she’d known them since elementary school. Oz did not pull off big moves in view of anyone except her, Brian, and Vicky, and _only_ if shit was desperate.

“You gotta—”

“Just _do it,_ LaVey!” the ifrit interrupted.

“So _you’re_ fucking stupid too!”

“Oh whass’a matter? Too af’waid to ram the po’wice, ya _spicy red_ **_baby!?_** ”

“I AM A SPICY. RED. **ADULT!!!** ”

Damien nearly floored it hard enough to put a hole through the car.

Everyone fell back in their seats except Oz, who’d been expecting the rush and held tight to the little grippy bar above the window. With their free hand they punched out the window, the glass twinkling behind them as car blazed over the asphalt. They held their arm down to the road. Sticky shadows rushed in front of the car, Oz reached out just ahead of the road block. Shadows gathered, piled up, tiny faces of phobias writhed amongst each other as Oz willed this extension of their body into a solid shape.

This was. The third time today. Damien found himself surprised by Oz.

At first he was just befuddled, what did this shadowy spitfuck twink think they were doing? He didn’t know Oz. No more than any of the other losers at school. They were just one more head in the mob fleeing the fires he set. For all he knew, they didn’t even _have_ any powers. No cool ones, anyway. That was, until he saw the shadows form into a ramp. Damien ripped off his mask—he had to be sure he was seeing this—revealing the demonic grin that had overtaken his face in the process.

Oh. He got it now. He fucking _got it_ now— _that_ was their spur-of-the-moment idea?

That was…

“FUCKING RADICAAAAAAL!!!”

Damien drove straight down the center of the road. The car shot up the ramp and launched over the line of cars like a rocket. Amira and Vera’s joint screaming made a valiant effort, but nothing could rival Damien’s excited roaring in that moment. Once they were airborne, Oz retracted the shadows and reached back down to absorb the shock of the impact as the car touched back down. It was a shaky landing, to say the least, and Damien wasn’t sure if the car would keep up speed. Or, he wasn’t until Oz’s shadow-arm dug nails into the pavement and gave a mighty push down the street. Damien artfully picked up the momentum and they were zooming away—scot. Fucking. Free.

Amira and Vera twisted around to look out the broken rear window. As the police officers shook off their bewilderment, they started running to their cars to continue the chase. Wow. They must really be mad at them. Most of the time, the cops gave up once you made it out of the city of their jurisdiction. What? Police in Monstropolis and the surrounding cities were supposed to chase down every criminal _every time?_ Do you have any idea how much time and manpower that would waste? Already this one chase was losing more officers than average. Normally they’d call it quits by now, but maybe one of their dead brothers was six days away from retirement or something.

“Grab the rocket launcher under the seat!”

“The _WHAT?_ ” Vera shouted, absolutely no more patience for Damien’s jokes.

Amira looked down at the floor, reached her hand around the underside. Well, what do you know? She pulled out the _fucking_ rocket launcher—

(why, Damien? _Why_ was this necessary?)

(For this exact moment!)

(GET OUT OF MY NARRATION!)

—readied the damn thing and held it out to Vera just in time for the police to start chasing them again.

“Care to do the honors, m’Lady?”

Amira was using the title as a jest, but Vera couldn’t help but find an appeal in the ifrit’s smile, the way her teasing acknowledged Vera’s superiority over her peers. She took the rocket launcher from Amira’s warm hands. For a moment she was amazed how, despite all the fire-blasts Amira shot off today, she never got burned the way she often did by Damien just grazing her when he went out of control. Which was often. She was so well in control of herself. Honestly, a rare trait in monsters of Amira’s caliber. So frequently the powerful high school monsters only cared for letting their powers loose at full-force just for the hell of it, no _thought_ put into it. Idiots, really. All of them. Like. God. Damn. Damien.

(Who, by the way, was _not_ shutting the fuck up in the driver’s seat.)

Vera Oberlin fucking smiled. And for once, it _wasn’t_ because she was about to cleverly betray her partners.

“Amira Rashid,”

(Holy shit full name!!! +??? Charm!)

“This is the start of a beautiful business partnership.” She clicked off the safety and shot the rocket at the remaining squad cars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, Amira summoning Oz by whispering something. What an odd power to have. It's almost like I'm hinting at something and being a total douchebag by telling you all about my foreshadowing down here like the fucking poser I am.  
> And thank you for reading through the longest chapter since ch1! I was going to shorten it, but I wanted to give you the whole heist in one go.
> 
> *Points if you get the reference of the chapter title. Also the references of ch's 2 & 4.


	6. “Missed”—Conceptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I hurt my back at work a week ago and the medication makes me sleepy. Between that and work, a lot of my writing time has been eaten up lately. Thanks for being patient!

Three monsters eased themselves out of the car, cooling down from the adrenaline rush, while Damien all but jumped out of his seat, _still_ roaring how radical their escape was. Amira was so relieved they’d made it she didn’t even mind the foul stench of the junkyard they were parked in. She took the deepest breath she had all day, completely free of stress for the first time since yesterday.

Oz was relieved to be somewhere familiar. When they’d gotten far enough out of sight of the carnage they left behind to remove their masks, Vera asked where they should go now that their original escape point was _back_ the way they came with the cops on high alert. Amira directed Damien to a dump the Nerd Squad often used to dispose of any unnecessary evidence from their excursions of general mischief. They were headed in its general direction and it was out of the way from any main roads.

Oz’s sweater hung over their shoulder. Amira had tossed it up to them on the drive over, but they didn’t have the energy to put it on. They were too sweaty anyway. Adding clothes would not help. And here they’d tried to play it safe by not breaking the door down to conserve energy. Making a _ramp_ for Damien to _drive_ over? Where had that thought even _come_ _from?_

But during the drive, fingers entwined in the soft yellow fabric of their sweater, their eyes kept switching attention between the view out the window and the demon beside them. They had caught glimpses of Damien in the sadistic afterglow after his bouts of mayhem plenty of times in the past. They’d never seen him so ecstatic, though. He looked honestly awestruck. Damien was always up to such wild shit. Surely he’d seen or done crazier before, right?

Eyes shut, Oz scooted out of the passenger seat onto solid, stable, ground. They barely had enough time to register the sound of rapid footsteps scuffing over the dirt, rounding the car before those claws were on them again. This time roughly, but not violently, gripping their shoulders.

“That was incredible! How long have you been able to do that?!”

Oz didn’t have time to process that Damien was impressed with them and complimenting them, much less com up with a response before he was pacing away. Clearly he was not interested in coming down from the high. Damien griped his own hair as he threw his head back and cackled wildly into the moonless night sky. The image of Damien as he turned his head back to Oz, one yellow eye glowing through the darkness, sharp teeth twisted in _that_ smile of his, against the stretching landscape of the junkyard and the glowing wash of bright stars in the sky above was definitely not what brought the faintest shade of gray to their cheeks. It was the rush from the heist, still. The adrenaline. That was it.

Not a moment after she’d stepped out of the car, Vera’s phone rang. Once she checked the caller ID, she flashed Amira a satisfied smirk. She swiped the screen to accept the call.

“I told you they’d be ruined by midnight.”

Vera walked away to carry on her phone call. Amira may not have known the exact context of the call and how it related to their successful robbery, but she knew Vera got exactly what she wanted.

_‘As if I’d expect any different.’_

Damien called out, snapping her attention away from watching Vera leave.

“Hey! Help up unload the car.” As he walked towards the trunk he gave Oz a shove on the back to push them in the same direction. From the surprise on their few facial features it was apparent Oz was unaware they’d been volunteered for this. But for once they made no effort to back out, no nervous fidgeting or shakes of unwillingness.

Amira was a bit confused though.

“What for? Not planning on taking your toys with you?”

“Them, sure. We’re torching the car. What do you think I stole some asshole’s shitmobile for? Mine are too easily recognized to take on high-risk jobs anymore.” His words came out on a disgruntled sigh. He was clearly not happy about that fact.

It was done the Damien method, but Amira was certain that was Vera’s logic speaking. The High School Crime Boss probably insisted on not taking any of his cars. He tended to have vehicles that… stood out. Amira pulled the rocket launcher from the back seat, leaving the other guns to Oz while Damien popped the trunk to grab a few duffle bags. Between his and Oz’s harnesses, they’d completely cleared the trunk of all weapons. Now most of them sat loose in the car. But his mention of high-risk jobs did bring up one point she’d been meaning to ask Vera about. While they all piled the weapons together a good, safe distance away from the car, Amira asked,

“Yeah, that reminds me, what was with those security cameras?” she laughed dryly. A laugh Damien joined in on.

“I know, right? Who fuckin’ does that shit anymore?”

It was an unwritten rule of Monstropolis that businesses didn’t install video surveillance of any kind. They were honestly more costly and more trouble than they were worth. For one: sure, any small-fish criminals, the real morons, usually got caught, but then you’re a snitch. Anyone captured knew who ratted them out and that’s a target on your back no one needed. Any criminal worth their salt knew to take out security cams first. So now, they not only served _no purpose,_ but replacing them constantly was an added expense with no return. Really, only complete fools used them in the cities and towns of that region any more.

 _“M-maybe that’s why Vera t-targeted this one?”_ Oz offered as they laid down the weapons from the car and started removing the ones on their harness.

“Hah. Probably,” Amira agreed. She took up the job of gathering the remainder of the weapons and other items they _didn’t_ want to go up in flames while Damien and Oz sorted through the weapons, checking which had ammo left and which didn’t. Vera returned to them, still with that satisfied grin and relaxed posture. A reassuring sight.

“In spite of our little…” she eyed Damien, “ _set back,_ ”

Damien went on checking a handgun, blissfully unaware he was being called out.

“—that operation went stupendously. Better than I could have planned,” she beamed. “Now, Oz,” Vera cleared her throat. It wasn’t that she was prudish when it came to nudity, but she was one of the few monsters in school who actually respected people’s boundaries when it came to their bodies as long as she wasn’t _currently_ exploiting them for her own personal gain. “If you wouldn’t mind…” she gestured to their chest.

 _“Huh?”_ They looked down to their still unbuttoned shirt. _“Oh! S-sure.”_ Honestly they were hoping to dump this all out as soon as possible, it was really slowing them down. They just didn’t want to distract the others from what they were all doing.

Oz sat cross-legged, and Vera knelt facing them, taking the duffle bags Damien passed her. A couple phobias popped out from their side to help peel back their skin while Oz held open the other side.

Without the pressure of the cops bearing down on them all, Vera and Damien actually had time to stare into the weirdness that was Oz’s… well, they weren’t really sure what they were looking at inside Oz. Again, they found themselves baffled by the fact that as they looked down into it, it seemed bottomless. Like even though they were stuffed full of an entire bank’s worth of money, they could easily fit more in there. A whole _planet_ of more, they assumed.

Without the adrenaline of armed robbery, Oz fully felt all the embarrassment of having two of the most popular people in school staring into their body. The phrase “looking at them like they had twelve heads” didn’t work here. There were _plenty_ multi-headed students in their school. They both looked at Oz like they suddenly turned _human._ Having them both just… _stare_ at them like that in the middle of a junkyard was making them more uncomfortable with every bewildered blink of the demon and gorgon’s eyes. As their cheeks rapidly paled to white, they desperately wanted to melt into shadow and be anywhere else.

“Ah- _hem,_ ” Amira loudly fake-coughed.

It didn’t distract Damien’s attention, but it did pull away Vera’s. Amira gave a hard gesture of her eyes toward Oz, which Vera followed up to the shadow monster’s face. A light blush welled into Vera’s own cheeks as she realized she and Damien had been leaning halfway into the hole in their chest. She quickly pulled back, then threw Damien a harsh look that he didn’t notice as he continued to peer around the void.

“Oh would you—” she hissed. She yanked him back by the shoulder.

“Ah! What the fuck—!”

“ _You’re_ the one who insisted on taking all the guns, now go help Amira put them away!”

“Uuuggghhh, _fiiine!_ ” he groaned as he got up to join Amira at the pile of weapons.

Oz’s eyes crinkled upward, oh so slightly. Vera wasn’t familiar enough with Oz to interpret their… “unique” facial expressions, but their body language seemed to be grateful, albeit sheepish as they always seemed to be.

“So, how would you like to do this?” she asked.

 _“Errr… h-how about I pull it out a-and hand it to you?”_ they suggested.

Vera nodded in agreement. “Just don’t try hiding away any for yourself. I know exactly how much was in that bank, and my contacts have already let me know you really did wipe the whole vault clean. I’ll know if you’re not giving me the full amount.”

That was really no problem for Oz since they had absolutely zero intentions of trying to pull the wool over Vera’s eyes, of all people. She still managed to intimidate fear personified, but it was easy enough for Oz to nod their agreement. As they started reaching in where ribs should have been to shovel out the cash, a bunch of phobias pitched in to help. Vera kept a mental tally as she put it in the duffle bag. And it was a damn good thing she and Damien brought extras!

He hadn’t yet told Amira why, but Damien was sorting the empty guns into one bag and leaving the rest on the open ground. Amira absently followed suit, mostly keeping an eye on Oz. She felt bad for pulling a Vicky and watching them like a hawk, they really didn’t need her to babysit. And honestly they should be fine since the heist was over and accomplished, and Vera and Damien had all but officially written them into their “not an **entire** loser” books. Though, she was pretty sure Oz themself hadn’t realized that yet. All the same, she knew how easily rattled Oz’s nerves got around people they didn’t know well, and she wanted to make sure she helped where she could.

Yet, Oz was actually interacting with Vera—someone Oz _never_ spoke with even during shared classes—and they _weren’t_ completely panic-stricken. They were a far stretch from the word “friend” with either Vera or Damien, but it was good to see her shiest friend branching out a bit. They’d earned a decent amount of respect from them both, and most importantly they’d take bigger steps than she’d seen in all her years knowing them.

“Is this why you weren’t in class the past few days?” Damien asked abruptly.

“What?”

“You getting the sex change, finally.” He nodded to her, this time _not_ just jamming his finger inches away from her chest. “Is that why I couldn’t find a decent fight to pick all this week?”

“Awh, how sweet, you missed me,” she giggled with a mocking smirk. He reared up to spit an angry rebuttal, but she cut him off. “Yes, it is. I needed some… adjustment time. Spells work faster than surgery but it’s still a process. I’m _still_ adjusting, but, you know, I had to leave recovery _sometime._ ”

“You had a witch perform a sex-reassignment spell?” Vera practically gasped. “The results are prodigious, sure, but the cost for that ritual is—”

“Astronomical, yup. Took the combined savings of all three of my friends and me over the course of four years.”

“No way. Even if you all had jobs, it would take you all a decade to save that much!”

Amira threw a sly grin. “Well, legal part-time jobs, sure. I’m nowhere near King Minos’s Top 30 under 300, but I know how to run a low-key enterprise.”

“Hm. You’re not trying to pass your parents’ wealth for your own success now, are you?”

“Hah! If I had a dime for every time my father said, ‘not with my money, you’re not!’ thinking it would deter me from wanting this, I could have afforded it long ago.”

“And you responded by…?”

“By getting my own money,” Amira said, a steely tone in her voice.

Vera’s eyebrows perked up. That… doing that took no small amount of determination.

“And…” Vera, for once, looked reluctant to speak. “Is that also why you need the motel room so quickly?”

Damien looked confused, but the looks on both Amira and Oz’s faces let her know her hunch was right. Amira wasn’t at all surprised she’d put that together already. If she didn’t tell Vera outright now, she’d just find out the truth some other way. It might as well be told from Amira’s own viewpoint.

“Hah, I’d give it to you as a lucky guess, but I’m pretty sure outsmarting Lady Luck is a hobby for you.”

Maybe it was the remnant excitement from the car chase weakening her poker face, but she let herself smile, laugh, _accept_ the compliment. Then again, Vera noted Amira’s adeptness in smooth-talking just about anyone no matter the circumstance, how dire the situation, how impossible manipulating a pyromaniac demon _should_ be. More than that, she noted how much she enjoyed watching Amira do so. She was certain of how much she enjoyed reaping the benefits of Amira’s silver tongue. Certainty which grew with each stuffed-full duffle bag she had to zip up.

“My… parents don’t approve of my decision.”

Damien’s eyes widened, his eyebrows knotted in puzzled disbelief, though part of him knew what he was about to hear. “What did they say?”

Amira’s hands stilled on the clip she was checking. “…It’s not what they said. I was prepared for whatever they might say, even for the worst they _could_ say to me. I was ready to deal with that, but I thought we’d talk about it, maybe at least they’d understand a little bit, or even _one_ of them might…” She gritted her teeth, unable to decide if she was more sad or more angry. “They… barely said two words to me before my mother told me to get out of our house. My father wouldn’t even look at me. My sister, the one I hoped the _most_ would understand, she screamed every awful thing she could call me then summoned her familiar to drag me out of my house all the way to the fucking sidewalk.”

The Rashids owned a mansion of a house out in Monstropolis’s suburbs. Complete with a wide, meticulously landscaped yard on all sides and a _long,_ gravel driveway between the front door and the sidewalk.

She hadn’t intended to fully spill her guts to them like that, but it was like once she started, all the pain just wanted out, out, _out._ Her body decided for her: she was sad and angry in equal measure and her energy to be angry was renewed. Tears steamed out of her eyes as quickly as they welled up. And good thing they did, too. She might die of embarrassment on the spot if she had actually gotten weepy in front of Vera Oberlin and Damien LaVey… both of whom… were giving her much more sympathetic looks than she’d ever expect from either of them.

“Well that explains it,” Damien mused.

The group looked to the demon.

“Your makeup is usually on point. No wonder you look like a disaster today.”

“Seriously!? _That’s_ what you’ve focused on today!” Vera spat at him.

“Did you _not_ focus on that all day?”

Then he caught the wry grin Amira shot him. And he remembered the three people he was sitting with.

“Uh. I mean. Seemed more your thing anyway, Vera.”

Watching Damien flustered like that, now _that_ was a treat. Amira almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“And, you know, how un-fucking-believable it is that people are still that goddamn backwards in 20-fucking-XX. No bullshit, Amira. That sucks hairy goat dick.”

“Well, thanks…” She didn’t know what she was expecting. That was the maximum sympathy Damien was capable of.

Amira felt something on her wrist. She looked down to see a little phobia hugging her hand. She gave Oz a weak but grateful smile.

“Well, you upheld your end of the bargain. Not a single monster buck was left behind in that vault. You two really pulled through.”

Neither Amira nor Oz could react. They were stunned. Vera just commended _both_ of them!

“We can iron out the details for your long-term stay another time, but getting me this,” she gestured to the now _five_ full, large-size duffle bags and the huge stack of cash that wouldn’t fit beside them, “is worth at least a few months’ rent.”

Damien stared at the cash-pile in awe. Oz was still shoveling money out!

Amira whistled. “How are we supposed to carry all that?”

As Oz dug around their chest for the last wad of bills, they gave a desperate look that begged, “please don’t make me put it back.”

“Guess I can summon the Dread Chariot to get my cut home,” Damien chuckled.

“I have henchmen who can take care of mine.”

“Aaannnd… have you decided if Oz and I even get a cut?” Amira asked, keeping it cool, not wanting to presume they earned some of the take, but they entirely did.

“You know, I gave serious consideration cutting you both out. I absolutely doubted Oz could actually deliver on your promise for ‘all of it,’ but here we are. With _all of it._ With this amount I’m coming out with more than my original estimation of our _total_ take with four even cuts. Suffice to say, yes. I’m willing to cut you two in.”

Vera stood to distribute the duffle bags. Amira whooped and grabbed Oz’s hand to make them high-five her. Oz even laughed with her and the two of their smiles barely faltered as Vera set down two bags beside her, two beside Damien, and gestured to the single bag and loose cash.

“There, that should do.”

…

Honestly, the two of them were just happy to be included.

“Good enough,” Amira laughed lightly.

 _“Do I have to carry the money again?”_ Oz sighed.

“Nah, you can take one of these.” Damien pointed to his two duffle bags.

“Don’t you need them for… the rest of your guns?” Amira asked.

“Eh, I stole most of them anyway. We can just blow up whatever won’t fit along with the car.” Damien said that with a worrying amount of glee in his eyes. “Oh! Fuck! Almost forgot—” He sprung to his feet to run back to the car and retrieved the last two items from the trunk. A two-liter of Fireball whiskey and a twelve-pack of beer.

“Oh my god you are so basic,” Amira muttered under her breath.

But they were four high schoolers basking in the glory of one of the most successful heists in their school’s history. And such an occasion could only be properly celebrated with whatever cheap alcohol Damien could steal. The oldest of any of their friends was still several months off from the legal drinking age. Not that that had stopped any of them at any point. By age 15 almost everyone had a fake I.D., it was simply a matter of whether you could convince the cashier. Vera and Amira clinked their cans together before gulping down the bitter, piss-poor excuse for beer.

“So, the motel currently has zero occupants. Want me to text the manager which room you’d rather be in?”

Amira nodded. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. Can you show me…”

Oz really hoped they could scoot over to the protection of Amira’s company now, but as the two girls scooted closer so they could look at something on Vera’s phone, Oz watched that window close. They didn’t have a moment to lament before Damien clapped them on the shoulder, almost shoving the short, thin, goopy-shadow into the pile of half-empty guns they sat in front of.

“Dude, that shadow-ramp was fucking _metal!_ Can all shadow monsters pull off that shit?” Damien asked after chugging down a fourth of the Fireball, leaning in towards Oz, an eager, mischievous grin stretching his face.

Again, Oz was caught off guard by being directly addressed, so their unprepared response came out stammered and mumbled. _“Huh? O-oh, um… not really? I mean, m-maybe?”_

“Shit. Was that racist to assume you knew? I know fuck-all about shadow monsters and shadow creatures. Except for how to kill ‘em.” Damien LaVey was a Grade A asshole, but he was an _equal opportunity_ bully. Making fun of or beating up people for their gender, orientation, or race? What kind of backwards pipefuck did you take him for?

 _“Oh! N-no, it isn’t, it’s fine, I… I-I just…”_ Oz wasn’t really sure how to explain this… without both confusing Damien and sounding like the most boring nerd ever. They were _technically_ made out of shadow, but they weren’t a “shadow monster” as defined by this dimension’s standards. Not that not knowing was Damien’s fault, it wasn’t common knowledge even among Oz’s teachers. On their school registration forms, they’d checked the box “Other.” The list of monster types specified on that form went on for a full multi-columned page, and still none of those covered exactly what Oz was. Not many people knew that about Oz, fewer knew what that “other” meant.

Even though Oz… kind of wanted to talk to Damien, Oz wasn’t sure they wanted to tell Damien such a personal detail.

_“Shadow monsters’ p-powers can v-vary widely, so it’s hard to s-say who’s c-capable of what…”_

(Not an _untrue_ statement.)

 _“B-besides… I don’t really get along with the other shadow entities at school.”_ Or anyone else for that matter, but Oz kept that thought to themself. Damien probably already thought that made them lame enough—

“Heh. Yeah, most of those guys are cowardly little shits,” the demon snorted.

Wait, what? Damien wasn’t dissing _Oz?_

“Not that you’re much better.”

There it was.

“Bet almost none of them could pull a rad stunt like that back there, though.”

(WHAAAAAAT? DID HE CALL SOMETHING YOU DID RAD?! What’s this feeling? It feels like +4 Boldness!)

“So, I guess you wouldn’t know the monster who pulled that really, _really_ cool stunt today?

_“Huh?”_

Vera and Amira’s heads both snapped up.

“Or even know _which_ shadow monster it was?”

Amira looked to Vera. The gorgon wasn’t saying anything, and Amira was unsure if she should intervene. Vera held up her hand, a gesture for Amira to remain silent, all the while her lips strained against the smile that creeped onto them. It was time to let this play out. Amira likewise did her best to restrain the laugh beating against her lungs. The reveal might as well come while the two girls had the chance to watch. Ohhh, when Damien finds out who it really was…

(I’d share the popcorn, but I’m only the narrator.)

 _“Uhhh…”_ Oz’s train of thought all but crashed to a halt because Damien couldn’t possibly be talking about **_that._**

“’Cause it was _the_ single raddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Like, fuck a _shark_ rad.”

“Oh.” Oh.

“Oh no,” Amira whispered to herself when she saw the look on Oz’s face fall. _‘Nooo…’_ she moaned in her mind.

 _‘If Damien thought it was so rad… there’s no way…’_ Oz said to themself.

 _‘Oz nooo…’_ Amira silently plead, practically watching the thoughts form on Oz’s face.

 _‘No way he means what I did… what I did was awful…’_ They turned their eyes downward, away from Damien. _“No… what you saw must have overshadowed what I did if it was so cool…”_

Damien snickered. “Haha. Overshadowed.”

 _‘Oz, sweetie, nooo! Believe in yourseeelf!’_ But Amira scrunched her lips together and held her tongue from letting those thoughts slip.

As they sighed, Oz remembered what Damien had said in the car about missing lunch today. Yeah. He wasn’t even there for what Oz did. It was probably for the best that Damien hadn’t seen it. Oz was already a loser. Damien would probably hate them if he’d been affected by their eldritch-terror-rampage too.

_“S-sorry…”_

Damien shrugged. “It’s whatever. I’ll find out who it was one way or another. That was too damn hot _not_ to fuck!”

Vera, unable to read Oz as adeptly as Amira, was strangling her own snickering into silence. Until Oz started speaking. Eyes wide, mouth clamped in a tight line, even her snakes’ heads all perked upward in surprise, Vera was, in a word, dumbstruck. The other two monsters remained entirely unaware of her and Amira’s look of utter defeat.

Vera grabbed Amira by the shoulder.

“We… we have to… discuss some…” She stammered, Vera was never at a loss for something to say. Amira cut in to help her out.

“Logistics! —and maximizing suffering dividends, pain coefficients—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Go take your nerd-talk to where its lameness can’t hurt my brain.”

(No. I’m not going to say it yet. I HAVE self-control.)

Vera yanked Amira to her feet and they ran till they were standing behind a scrap-pile far out of earshot of either Damien or Oz. Which was… actually kind of far.

Stupid, supernatural hearing.

“What the _hell_ was _that!?_ ” Vera demanded.

(I know, right!? Cockblocked by my own characters.)

Amira buried a groan by stuffing her face in both hands.

“Oooz… Oz, nnnoooo…”

“What!?” she hissed, insistently.

“You… you don’t know Oz… I swear, they are so much cooler than you think…”

“Why do I doubt that?” Vera snorted.

“Becaaause, they’re really hard on themself. It’s nooot their fault, but… they just… their self-esteem is really… _really low._ ”

“What does that have to do with Oz pretending they don’t know what Damien’s talking about?”

“No, that’s just it! They’re _not_ pretending! They actually think Damien’s talking about someone else!”

“How!?”

“ _Because_ Damien said it was the raddest thing he’d ever seen,” Amira sighed.

“…oh.”

“And Damien wasn’t _at_ lunch, remember? Oz probably thinks he didn’t see it at all.”

“Oooh.”

“I swear, Oz is so much smarter than this,”

“I saw their grades during my last hack of the school’s systems for blackmail. I’m well aware they’re smarter than this. Which is why I don’t get, _how._ ”

“Right, but if you want Oz to believe the cool thing you saw was them, you have to tell them straight forward! Like, _**scream-it-at-them-**_ straight forward. Otherwise they will think of every excuse to believe it wasn’t them.”

“I take it this has happened before?”

Amira almost sobbed, “A few too many times, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Amira’s shoulders slumped, ready for more beratement from Vera for being denied prime Damien-freak-out entertainment. But all she heard was laughter. Full, hearty, tear-inducing laughter.

Amira looked up to see Vera practically in hysterics. Small, hissy snickers chimed from her snakes. But the smile—the honest, unrestrained delight on her face as she flicked away a tear with her finger—it may have been the most beautiful Vera ever looked.

“Oh that is _too precious,_ ” Vera chuckled darkly.

Amira was lucky there was no moon out to reveal the blush on her cheeks. Another moment later, she joined Vera’s laughter. It took a while before either of them could breathe normally again.

“Y-haha… you were right…”

“Naturally…” Vera coughed out another giggle. “But about what?”

“There is… no way… We—we can’t…” Amira cut herself off laughing. “We _cannot_ tell Damien…”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Vera paused, a hand over her mouth to collect herself. “You may fight him a lot, but I don’t think you fully appreciate how _long_ that boy can remain oblivious.” This time when Vera rolled her eyes, she wasn’t aggravated about something.

“It may take him foreeever to figure it out if Oz doesn’t realize it for him!”

“Oh! _That_ —that I’m willing to place bets on!”

“W-hehehe,” Amira had to fight to get the words out. “Wait, wait. I don’t want this backfiring on Oz.”

“Loyalty. Admirable,” Vera mused. “Fine, help me make sure no one else lets the cat out of the bag and I’ll intervene if I suspect Oz might get hurt for this… Well, at least I’ll _have_ someone intervene.” Vera held out her hand.

Amira gripped it firmly. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you all so glad to have a chapter where nothing sad was brought up? 8D  
> (It'll happen eventually, I swear!)  
> Alternate Title: “Stupid, sexy Damien.” I love these babies, but god damn… Anyway, next chapter will be shorter just to wrap up this “event” for Amira and Oz. We have two other main characters, after all!  
> Also, I always share on my Twitter and Tumblr (though, Tumblr might be dying) as soon as I update.  
> Twitter: @MelissaTheDucky  
> Tumblr: quintessencemeister.tumblr.com


	7. I Said it Would Happen Eventually, not Soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! Let's celebrate as our heist (double date) crew wraps up their own celebrations!  
> It's not much, but my gift to you all this year: every other day for the next 12 days there will be an update!  
> (It was going to be one for all 12 days, but work got craaazy.)
> 
> Note: I know canon says otherwise, but I always picture Amira being a little taller and Oz being shorter than her. And this is my story, so... shorter Oz it is! (Like, only taller than Vicky by a couple inches.)

A chorus of gunfire echoed from back where they’d left their partners and the car.

“Didn’t even wait for us,” Amira sighed.

“Please, you go and _try_ getting Damien to wait for anyone.”

“Hah. Fair.”

The moment they came in sight of the clearing where Damien and Oz fired wildly at the car Amira had to immediately jump in front of Vera to take a few bullets. Well, fuck, they didn’t think they were walking _straight_ out into gunfire!

 _“Shit! Damien, stop!”_ Oz grabbed the barrel of Damien’s rifle, shoving it downward.

Damien wanted to shout something at the little shadow, but Damien just stared at them in shock. He’d still been firing when Oz grabbed his gun. Made of shadow or not, their hand should be _sizzling_ right now. They didn’t even seem phased by the recoil, they’d kept a steady, firm grip on the barrel. _Look. At. Them._ They were the _definition_ of a twink. Lithe frame, so skinny they looked like they could get picked up but a strong wind, ~~or his own strong arms~~ , hell they were shorter than Amira, on top of that they were just a shadow. So all Damien could ask himself was, _‘How???’_

_“Amira!?”_

“We’re good!” Amira called out. “Are you?” she asked Vera.

Now it was Vera’s turn to stare at one of the school’s nerdiest losers in shock. No, no. It wasn’t such a big deal. Ifrits were immune to regular old guns. It was no big deal that Amira had literally taken a bullet for her. Or five. “Ah-hem. Yes. I’m fine.”

Amira pursed her lips as she turned her head to get a look at her jacket. She’d be furious at Damien if she didn’t have a spell-casting master as a friend. Oz could have this mended like nothing ever happened.

Both monsters walked around the car toward them, Amira waved to show they were unhurt. Oz removed their hand, shaking it as if it would make the burn on their palm hurt less. It was impulsive to grab the gun like that, but they weren’t thinking. They sheepishly looked to Damien, expecting anger and shouting.

(Nope. Just shouting.)

“Did that not fucking hurt?!”

 _“Uh—oh, it—it did… I just—I’ve had worse… I! I don’t mind! Is w-what I mean… It’s just a f-flesh wound.”_ Oz almost wanted to hit themself. They were stuttering like a motherfucker today. Things were going _well,_ and they still couldn’t pull it the fuck together. They just wished Damien would make fun of them for it and get it over with already.

Damien smirked. “Dude, that is the second time you have said ‘fuck all’ to that hand and tanked the pain.”

Confused, Oz held up it to their face. There was still dried, black blood caking their hand from punching out the car window earlier. Well, it wasn’t black, but that’s how everyone else’s eyes would see it. Maybe if they looked hard, their eyes would interpret a slight glint of purple. Oz saw the dark, unnatural color for what it was.

Damien hadn’t been watching Oz’s face during the car chase when they punched out the window, so he didn’t know if they’d reacted to the pain, but he was sure he’d heard no complaining from them either. He’d wondered if Oz couldn’t feel pain, but no, they said they could. That meant they could beast it through the pain. Maybe Oz less of a wuss than they looked. Unlikely. One day of being cool didn’t save them from their lifetime of being lame, but they _were_ , undeniably, having a day of cool.

But if Damien wasn’t the kind of shit to take advantage of an opportune moment, then what kind of demon was he?

He slapped Oz’s hand into their face.

“MADE YA LOOK!”

He continued snickering over Vera’s scolding as she walked closer. Oz gave him a blank expression, positive that if they had bones to break the force he’d used for his little gag would have caved their skull in. Eventually Vera gave up trying to make him see reason and groaned out her aggression.

“Just destroy the evidence already. I have to make a phone call.” She took another beer can as she walked off to sit on the most stable looking sit-able surface.

Amira regarded the side of the car she could now see was riddled with holes.

“Any… reason for this?” she asked, knowing there probably wasn’t a sane answer.

“Yeah. We’re trashing the guns. Doesn’t mean we have to let good ammo go to waste. Might as well give these babies one last hurrah.”

Oz nodded in agreement as Damien took aim again. They held out a gun and tilted their head to the side, asking with body language if she wanted to join them. She shrugged. As she suspected, a barely sane answer, but with the kind of logic only another monster could follow. Good thing they were all monsters here. Amira took the gun from Oz, and the three of them opened fire, unloading every last bullet into the car. They all quickly hit the same point where it became almost therapeutic. Just utterly destroying something. Not just some plates or a glass window. Something you usually look upon and expect it to be sturdy. Now this two-ton hunk of metal was being whittled down to shreds. All their reasons were different, and none of them could hear any sounds the monsters beside them made over the gunfire, but they all decided the same thing: this car was everything they hated. This car needed to face utter _annihilation._

When the guns were all thoroughly empty, Damien took another long gulp of the Fireball before handing it off to Amira. She drank less, already getting a light buzz from her beer, and passed it back to Damien. With half of the two-liter left, he shoved it into Oz’s hands. Their eyes arched upward, a look Damien was unfamiliar with, but compared to the shy and nervous and pathetic looks they’d had on their face pretty much the whole evening, Damien could at least tell this was the opposite. No sooner had they raised the bottle to their… well, the smooth skin under their mouth, Damien only now thought to wonder if Oz could eat or drink. And then the contents of the bottle funneled out and down into _something_ , and that was good enough for Damien who started up a chant of “CHUG!” One intoxicated-Amira eagerly jumped in on.

Oz was running low on “people-ing-energy” but wrecking the car gave them a little boost. And who knew. Maybe alcohol will help.

(Famous last words.)

What’s high school without giving in to peer pressure at least a few times?

Without a proper mouth to feel the burn, Oz downed the bottle in less than 30 seconds and hurled the empty bottle, shattering it against the car, earning cheers from their friend and their… whatever Damien was.

“FUCKIN’ A!” Amira hollered.

Oz rolled their eyes at the phrase Amira said way too often to be clever anymore but would never not be funny. Already they began to sway slightly. No burn going down did not mean Oz would go unaffected—no, no. They could get plenty drunk. Take out the stomach getting in the way, alcohol went _straight to their head._ Close to instantly. This was _not_ a good idea.

(What? No, I’m not going to write “it was a GREAT idea.”)

Damien rambled into mutterings of “I want that one… fuck that one… this one… that one’s crap anyway,” as he stuffed the guns he wanted to keep into the last duffel.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep both bags? You could take ‘em all,” Amira offered. Damien shook his head.

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous. They’ll look _way_ cooler blown up.”

Trying to convince Damien anything wouldn’t look cooler blown up was as good as banging your head on a brick wall. So they let the Damien-logic stand.

“Just lemme get one thing out of it,” he said as he zipped away his guns-for-keeps bag. From the bag he was about to give to Amira and Oz, Damien pulled out **_a lot of dynamite._**

Buzzed-Amira and Drunk-Oz stared at him, not confident in what they were seeing.

“Damien…?” Amira broke the silence first.

“Yeah.”

“Is that a lot of dynamite in your hand?”

“Oh, it is a _shit-load_ of dynamite.”

“That bag… that one was in the trunk, right?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“While the cops were shooting at us?”

“Heh. The entire time, yes.”

Oz grabbed a beer.

“Did it… _at all_ occur to you that one stray shot could blow us to pieces?”

“You bet it did! Got me so fucking hard,” a deep chuckle rumbled in the demon’s throat.

Oz realized, as they _inhaled_ the beer, that was very likely what he’d really laughed for back during the car chase.

Amira motioned for Oz to hand her another beer too. As they passed it to her, Damien started throwing guns to pile up on—or at least around—the car. Oz joined him. Although, their aim was off. Little, drunk phobias wiggled through the shadows and dragged the guns that fell wide of their mark closer to the car.

“Oh those things are so fucking weird.” Despite the apparently harsh wording, it was said with a smile on his face. Perhaps it wasn’t intended mockingly, but Oz was too drunk for “perhapses.” They were also too drunk to be bothered by such a tame insult, they’d heard worse about their little phobia-buddies.

They all wrapped up erecting their evidence-pyre as Vera wrapped up her call. In Amira’s ear, she whispered to let her know the room would be all set by the time she got there.

The last thing they all threw on top were the masks they’d worn.

 _“I ruh-really wanna chuck thh-that dynamite…”_ Oz slurred, thoughts muddled less into words, more into concepts. _“But I’m not shhhure which of the three cars to aim for…”_

Amira cupped her hands fully over her face as laughter wheezed out of her lungs. Oh she should not have encouraged them to slam that Fireball. Damien belted out laughing.

Watching with a dry smile, Vera offered, “At the risk of blowing ourselves and our hard-earned money to the moon, how about I do the honors.”

Everyone was too busy laughing at nothing to object. Vera picked up the dynamite, held it out to Amira, and threw her the same smoldering, side-eyed glance the ifrit gave her back in gym class.

“Light me up?”

Amira. Was. So lucky. She could blame the alcohol on this one.

“For you, madame, anytime.” Cheeks a solid shade of red, she snapped her fingers, producing a single flame on the tip of her pointer finger.

The dynamite sparked as it lit, and Vera hurled it in a perfect arc through one of the busted windows of the car. When it exploded spectacularly, everyone agreed that called for another. To be on the safe side, of course.

 

\---

 

In the end, the rest of the beer was finished between Damien and Oz. The former rode down to hell in triumphant victory with his earnings and remaining guns. And nobody had to worry about the furious hangover he’d be going to school with in less than six hours from when he finally arrived home. Nobody.

Vera called an Uber for the rest of them to share. Oz spent most of the ride gripping Amira’s shoulder to steady themself, despite the fairly smooth drive to the motel. Vera remained in the back seat when they were dropped off, but she rolled down the window.

“Hey.”

Amira propped her arm against the car. “Hey.”

“I know you sunk all your money into the ritual—”

“I wouldn’t say ‘sunk.’” Amira shrugged.

“No, you’re right. You’re still essentially working yourself back up from nothing… unless… this is as far as your goals take you?”

Amira laughed. “I put all my money into this body so I could _live_ in it. This would be a pretty piss-poor place to stop now.”

Vera smiled. “Then I may have a few jobs that require more than firepower.”

“Help? You’re offering to _help me?_ ”

“I don’t run a _charity,_ Ms. Rashid. This isn’t a hand out just because I _feel_ bad,” she sneered. “You did more than break open a safe, you proved you can manage… dissimilar monsters. And your advice on crew structure,” she peered over at Oz, staring up into the sky, standing next to their and Amira’s cash bags, swaying with the slightest breeze, “turned out to be invaluable. Well, not _in_ valuable, I have the exact value right here.” She pointed to the trunk where her duffel bags were stored. “If you’d rather start with a position on my payroll, it’ll get you further than starting from scratch.”

Amira’s eyes lit up—metaphorically.

“Where do I sign?”

“Your phone number will do.”

The alcohol. That is the reason for the blushing. Nothing else.

She dug her phone from her pocket and swapped with Vera so they could put their own numbers in. When they traded back, Vera sent a test-text and…

Amira’s stomach plummeted as she watched her lips twist down, dissatisfied.

“It’s not sending the text.”

Amira blinked and hurried to try the same. Her phone wouldn’t send anything either.

It hit her like a ton of bricks.

“They kicked me off the family’s phone plan…” she said, barely loud enough for Vera to hear.

This was normally where Vera would scoff at someone of Amira’s social standing that they couldn’t manage to handle their phone right, but… she cast a look of sympathy. “We can talk at school. Be sure to let me know when you sort out your phone situation.”

“Yeah… er—ah-hem, yeah. I will.”

Vera nodded. Before the window could roll up, Oz slurred out,

 _“Oh… yeah, if…if you got any black goo on y—_ hic _—ou from lunch, wuh-wash it off as soon as p—_ hic _—ossible. Around the 24-hou—_ hic _—ur mark it sss…starts seeping into your saaai…”_ They squinted hard, trying to remember what _are_ words? _“Psyche… and you will slooowly gooo insaaane._ Hic— _I mean… huuuh… I’m no—_ hic _—ot shh-sure how strongly it uff—_ hic _—affects demons… or gorgons… I wouldn’t risk it. And w—hic—warn any friends you don’t woo………want losing their minds.”_

(I would ask how you’re hiccuping without lungs, but sometimes you don’t question the eldritch.)

Vera went wide-eyed. Unsure what to make of that. That… that was no power any shadow monster was capable of. Nor was… really anything they did today.

“Duly noted. On that point, Amira, word of advice: I’d take all the linens down to the laundromat on the corner before sleeping in any of them.” She gave a skeptical glance at the just-barely-up-to-code motel.

Amira nodded. “I appreciate the heads up.” GREATLY.

She rolled up her window and commanded the driver to get her the hell home.

Amira sighed out all the stress she could. Wasn’t enough.

“Oz?”

_“Mmmyuhp?”_

She sighed again. Bonuses of fire-elemental monsters and demons, they tended to have pretty fast metabolisms, including for intoxicating substances. She would be sober well before her dear friend. Though, the hangover would come sooner.

“How ya feeling, bud?”

 _“I am… staaarving…”_ Oz groaned.

“Ok, we’re going to put these in the room and get you someone to eat.”

Oz lazily nodded and followed her lead, barely conscious of the entire process. As far as they knew, they were on the curb waving Vera goodbye, and teleported out of all their clothes except their boxers into a motel room with no sheets or pillowcases or towels. Was this room familiar to them? They couldn’t put their finger on why it felt familiar. Their brain felt too… doughy to figure it out. Yeah, that was a good way to describe it. Their brain was like throbbing playdough. But their limbs were heavy. If their brain wasn’t so doughy they’d be afraid their arms and legs were about to droop to the floor in puddles. Their stomach felt full, but for once they really didn’t like feeling full. They tasted blood and somebody’s really obscure phobias.

Amira returned, panting from heaving a massive bundle of laundry up the stairs, to find Oz looking very confused with eyes drooped into horizontal puddle-shapes. But it was better than the completely zoned-out face they’d had for the last hour. She laid her sack on the bed and pulled out a blanket to wrap over them, only imagining how cold they must have been. It was a good sign when their hands fumbled to bring the blanket closer around them. Hopefully it meant they were waking up more.

“Oz? You with me?”

They didn’t speak, but she expected their energy to be drained by now. They’d already had a few non-verbal moments with Damien and Vera. They did nod, so that was good. She knelt down in front of them.

“Do you remember much?”

They shook their head.

“We got me checked in, we got you a meal, you’ve kinda been waking up since then. I had to go to the laundromat and I threw your clothes in with my stuff. You, er, well, you weren’t as ‘tidy’ as you usually are.”

Oz nodded, they understood.

“Do you want to try going home?”

They shook their head.

“Was it going to be a no even if you weren’t drunk?”

They nodded.

“You were gonna hide in the city somewhere, weren’t you?”

They nodded again.

“You know I hate when you do that. Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt out there.”

No response.

“I’m not mad, I just—” Her own tired sigh cut her off. “Would you feel better staying here for the night?”

She waited patiently for any response. They finally managed to think a few mumbled words.

_“I don’t want to bother you. You have enough to deal with without me here.”_

She smiled, shook her head, and placed her hands on one of Oz’s. “Oz, I’ve lived with my parents, my grandparents, my sister, and relatives coming to visit my entire life.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I know you know my fears. You _are_ my fears. I’m _terrified_ of spending every night alone. Probably was the best thing about staying at Brian’s last night, there were other monsters _everywhere._ ”

Oz weakly squeezed her hand.

“If you want to get away from your house now and then, I’ll never turn you away.”

It was hard to read their expression. It was somewhere between overwhelmed, on the brink of drunk-tears, and gratitude.

_“Can I please s-stay? I cuh—can’t go t—…tell them I got s-suspended…”_

Oz’s eyes squinted into tight lines against the tears that spilled out. Amira gently pulled them into a hug, ignoring the blood smearing from their face onto her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More info on Ifrits: they are immune to all normal weapons and can only be harmed by magic/magical weapons.
> 
> If you're enjoying the story so far, I'd greatly appreciate a kudos! And I always love reading your comments! ^u^  
> Happy Holidays!


	8. And Now for Something Completely Different...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3rd Day of Christmas~ Here's the next update!  
> I'm glad everyone's still enjoying this. These next two chapters aren't going to be very plot-heavy, more on the chill-side. They're mainly for everyone to get acquainted with Brian and Vicky on some average after-school adventures. When I started outlining what I wanted in this story, I made the decision it's for all FOUR of the player characters, not just one of my ships. Brian and Vicky's romantic adventures are a bit slower to start up, but I felt bad just ignoring them. All the same, I promise their little adventure is good shit, and I hope you enjoy their interactions together as much as I enjoyed writing them.

**_Rewind…_ **

Vicky sat back with her hands on her knees as she watched Amira suavely make her way to Vera, making sure the others were preoccupied and wouldn’t distract her. She seemed so at home among the popular students. She could hop into the “inner circle of cool” any time she wanted. Vicky smiled, happy to see the Amira she knew and loved was still in there. Amira was down, but not out. She squinted daggers at Brian.

“You’re _sure_ about this motel?”

“I said it’s on the nice side of town.”

Her lips puckered, grumbling a, “Hrmmm…” of suspicion.

Brian ignored her pouting. “So long as Vera’s distracted, mind helping me out and getting my ear back?”

Vicky rolled her eyes, sighing, “Fiiine.”

It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Everyone was busy, and the locker room was empty. She picked the lock with a bobby pin and grabbed Brian’s ear out of Vera’s coat pocket before anyone noticed she was gone. She even had time to pull the spare car-battery out of her gym locker and juice up once… or twice… She was bouncing up the stairs with his ear in hand when her phone chimed with a text from Oz. She knew it was Oz because she customized every single contact’s ringtones.

“Oh good, they must be out of Principal Giant Spider’s office,” she hummed. She hoped they had time to make it to gym class.

Her feet stilled outside the doors to the gym as she read.

She hurried back to Brian.

He looked up from reading his own phone.

\---

The morning was bad enough. She thought the day was done dragging on and on and _ooon._

She had her next period after gym alone anyway, but knowing Oz wasn’t at school at all made it feel lonelier. And with Amira busy for the rest of the day—oh, she really hoped Brian wouldn’t surprise her with any other plans and leave her by herself after school. Vicky was plenty capable of busying herself, and she wasn’t one to get bored the minute she had to be by herself. She just liked to _plan_ for those days. Not assume she’d be hanging out with friends and then have everyone cancel on her.

Technically only Amira was busy. Oz might not be, but they weren’t answering their texts. Vicky felt a pang through her chest—metaphorically, of course, if it was literal she’d rush herself to the doctor. Being lonely was nothing next to how much she was freaking out over Oz’s radio-silence. That was the real reason she was hoping to the high stinking heaven she didn’t believe in that Brian wouldn’t leave her alone. The stress might kill her again if she had to wait to hear news from Oz and Amira alone! She kept trying to tell herself Oz did this sometimes. When they were really upset they often had a hard time talking, especially over text. Texting often made them _more_ anxious. It was probably just that. Hell, they could be holding their phone this very minute, beating themself up for not being able to find the right words to type.

They could also be running away from home, giving in to an offer from a crime boss for safety and the promise of familial bonds with gang members who would become like brothers to Oz, only for their gang to be betrayed and Oz, unable to die in the resulting shoot-out with the cops would get arrested, doomed to live the rest of their immortal days in solitary confinement for cracking open the skull of the man who betrayed their brothers with a pickaxe.

No, no, that’s ridiculous.

Where would Oz even _get_ a pickaxe in jail?

Oh right!

They had that never-ending hole they could open in their chest. That’s where they’ve been hiding it all along.

Never mind. This scenario just became perfectly plausible again.

(Isn’t that Oz’s text alert ringing from your phone?)

“Ms. Schmidt!”

“My apologies, Ms. Orcson! I forgot to put it on silent.”

The seven-foot orc with rectangular spectacles stared her student down. Which wasn’t hard, the girl was barely five feet tall—she stared _down_ at her no matter what mood. Vicky was an upstanding, respectful, ruthless student. Certainly the best example in this semester’s Street Fighting Mathematics class. Never caused any unsanctioned trouble so long as she’d been one of Ms. Orcson’s students. None she got caught for, anyhow.

(By the by, Street Fighting Mathematics—real class. Taught at MIT, no less.)

“Do so now, Ms. Schmidt. And see that your phone _remains_ in your backpack.”

It was a warning. Most students only got one in this school.

“Yes, ma’am.” Vicky hurriedly mashed the volume button down and shoved it in her owl-print canvas backpack. But not before she caught a glimpse of the screen to confirm it _was_ Oz finally texting back.

\---

Vicky sighed in relief when she was finally able to read her phone without getting in trouble. You know. All the way at the _end_ of the school day.

 

Oz:: I’m fine.

Oz:: …

Oz:: No, I’m not. But I’m safe. I’m just at the arcade.

Oz:: I didn’t mean to worry you so much, I just need to be alone.

Oz:: Thanks for checking on me.

Oz:: Sorry.

Brian:: Its cool

Brian:: F ur suspension k? We can still hang outside of school

Brian:: & we can help with hw u miss

 

“Hey.”

Vicky’s head perked up at Brian’s voice from above just in time to walk into a pole supporting the auditorium lights. Brian’s low, airy chuckle was barely audible from up where he sat. There was a ledge just wide enough to sit on, but too high and with no hand-holds for a person to climb up to.

(Yeah. A _regular_ person.)

She rubbed her forehead. Her eyes flicked up.

“I will make sure the next time you deal your tech to Vera Oberlin it short-circuits upon use.”

His shoulders still shook with stifled laughter, but he shut his lips… as much as they could be shut. She wouldn’t follow through with her threats unless he did something _really_ dickish. Brian caught the rope Vicky tossed up to him and pulled her up.

“Should we try seeing if Oz is ready for some company?”

Brian’s eyebrow tilted marginally. “Didn’t Amira tell you?”

Vicky looked puzzled. “No, she skipped all but one of the classes we had together. And the one she was there for, she really didn’t look like she wanted to talk.”

“Oh. Oz is going on the mission with Amira.”

“WHAT?” she shrieked.

Brian filled her in.

“Are… are they ok to go?”

The zombie shrugged. “I assume we’d hear about it if they pulled out.”

Though, he admitted to himself school only just got out. There was plenty of time for the heist to go wrong. Nothing he could do but wait.

Vicky exhaled. Loudly. “Well, do you have anything to do this afternoon?”

“Yup.”

Vicky’s heart—again, metaphorically—plummeted.

Brian grinned at the dejected look she gave him. “I painted my drum set to look like toxic waste barrels and I want to show it to the Frankenstein’s monster I’m friends with.”

Said Frankenstein’s monster gasped. “You ASS! You scared me!” she yelled as she playfully shoved him.

The low raspy chuckle out of the hole in his face was back. The force of her push barely made Brian budge, but on such a narrow ledge it was enough. Vicky was able to read the faint changes in his face expressing surprise at the sensation of _suddenly having nothing underneath him._ She shrieked as he dropped like a rock and hit the grass with a dull thud.

“You alright???”

Brian shuffled his arm out from under his body to give her a thumbs-up.

(Ooohhh… undead or not, arms are _not_ supposed to bend at that angle.)

Sighing with relief, she was suddenly also grateful she’d kept the rope. Tying it to the pole she’s bumped into earlier, she used it to propel down. Though, she now had no way of pulling it back. Resigning herself to its loss, she went to Brian’s side to help him snap his bones back into place. Satisfied everything was in the right place, she dug for her needle-case in her backpack. Wait no, wrong set of needles. That’s her case of knitting needles. Nope, that’s the case for crochet hooks. Aha! There’s the syringe-case with the experimental heal-factor-booster serum!

What? The experiments had been fine so far.

(If by experiments, you mean shooting up students who’d fallen asleep in your classes.)

She’d already tested it on Brian a few times—

(Does HE know that???)

—so she knew how quickly it would work on him.

Questionable substances being injected into his body aside, he appreciated the help. It could be a pain in the ass putting himself back together on his own. He thanked her with a nod. Then tried to shoo her hand away when she took his hand to help pull him up, but she insisted on “helping.” He… really… did not need her help. She… really… couldn’t pull him up with her dainty little arms if she tried. And try, she did. Her whole face scrunched under the strain from trying to pull him into a stand. This was too amusing to not milk it out. He rose as slowly as he could. Too slow. She opened one eye a crack only to see the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Go _fuck_ yourself, Brian!”

Her voiced cracked when she shrieked “fuck”—only making him grin wider—as she shoved his chest with all her might. The only reason she managed to push him back down was because he was half-squatting at a weird angle. Even then he fell back softly, laughing as he hit the grass.

Vicky turned on her heel and stormed away to the busses, walking at a quick, indignant pace to keep him behind her. When he got himself back up, he strolled at a leisurely pace and caught up to her almost immediately. No matter how many times she tried to push her legs to give her a speed-boost, she wound up right back side-by-side with the zombie whose feet didn’t quicken their step whatsoever. His attempt at holding a straight face cracked back into a grin as he heard her mumble something about his “stupid, tall-person giraffe-legs.”

By the time they lined up for the bus, her grumblings had passed, and she’d moved on to discussing her latest grapple with her Extralegal Electronics teacher who simply did not see the value in her most recently proposed experimental project. The line slowly crawled onward. It wasn’t the line for the bus Vicky normally took, that one was further down heading to the suburban neighborhoods. They were in the line for Brian’s bus—one of the ones that shuttled the students who lived closer to, or directly in the city. Spooky High was a massive school, and students travelled from varying distances. Their busses catered to the areas they could, but still plenty had to make the commute on their own.

Brian’s bus was crammed so tight, one student had to cast a mirage-spell to make it look like no one was sitting in the aisle so the driver would take off already. School policy didn’t allow their bus drivers to do so if it wasn’t clear. Needless to say, the aisle was packed with sitting and kneeling students all the way to the back. The shuffle of students trying to squeeze by to get off at their stops as others filled the gaps in the seats they left behind was pretty chaotic. Naturally, with Brian’s luck his stop was one of the last on the bus route. He managed to yank Vicky into a nearby seat when it opened up before the bear-turtle-snake chimera next to her could slither into it. When said chimera hissed, baring her fangs to challenge Vicky for it she crumpled under the combined glares of Brian, who towered over most of the humanoid students, and Vicky, who had one hand on a syringe that she held just half way out of her backpack.

She remembered the last time she accepted their challenging glares. She remembered.

She wisely sat back down in the aisle.

Amidst the pandemonium only high school monsters were capable of in such a confined space, Vicky somehow managed to text Oz back in coherent sentences despite being jostled constantly by uneven roads and unruly monsters alike. But instead of the group chat, she pulled up Oz’s private text-log. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep anything a secret or planned on saying something she wasn’t comfortable having Amira and Brian read. Oz was more comfortable with all three of them than they were with any other being in existence. All the same, the responded better when they could talk one-on-one with someone.

 

Vicky:: You know we only worry because we care.

Vicky:: For what it’s worth, if I had the horrific unknowable body of an eldritch being I’d have used them to throw that little shit through a few walls too.

Vicky:: Ugh. I WANTED to.

Oz:: Are you ok? Did you get effected by my—

 

The next word was a scramble of characters that looked like the phone glitched trying to interpret an alphabet that shouldn’t exist. But Vicky knew what they tried typing. It was the technical word for their “fear aura.” It was a word that had no translation from Oz’s first language, that of the “otherly” beings whose true nature remained incomprehensible despite all the rigorous study that has gone into exploring them over humankind’s few millennia of existence. Probably because every single person who’s attempted a continuous study has gone mad or the writings they left behind became illegible and/or nonsensical over time. Humans really ought to stop trying to study the Eldritch. Either way, it was a word that, when Oz “spoke” it, never sounded the same twice. But any time they did say it, Vicky, Amira, and Brian somehow understood the meaning.

 

Vicky:: I am FINE.

 

 _‘Honestly Oz,’_ Vicky sighed in her thoughts. The first thing they text her directly, the first time they respond instantaneously to any of them texting them and it’s to fuss over Vicky’s mental state.

 

Vicky:: I was well out of range by the time you really hit the school.

Vicky:: But I promise I will come to you if I get panicky so you can do your magic thing.

Oz:: Good. Thank you.

 

Vicky sent a bunch of emojis to their phone. She couldn’t force them to be happy right now. But she could convey platonic love through a carefully crafted combination of seemingly unrelated emojis. After a thought, she pulled up Amira’s text-log.

 

Vicky:: Brian filled me in. You be careful around Vera.

Vicky:: I don’t need to warn you about LaVey.

Vicky:: I know you and Oz can do this!

Vicky:: Btw if that motel is the one I’m thinking it is I WILL be rigging it up with security measures and if Vera has a problem with me rewiring her little drug front shit-stain inn I can find a serum that will work on her.

Vicky:: “Immune to all poisons”

Vicky:: Challenge ACCEPTED.

Amira:: I fucking love you

 

Unfortunately Amira didn’t have time to respond more, too busy on her way to pick up Oz. But Vicky was ready for radio silence from both her and Oz this time. She was simply glad she got to hear from them both at least once before they went into the heist.

Brian’s stop came, thankfully, before the third fight of that bus trip broke out between two monsters in the back rows. The two of them could see the vehicle rock as it drove off, as one tackled the other against their seat.

It was a long bus ride, but to him it was worth it to have the bus stop basically right outside his building. They still had to wait for a break in the traffic to cross the street. As soon as Brian saw one, he grunted, “Go,” and he and Vicky mad-dashed across the road while cars blared horns at them. Well maybe if cars ever stopped for the damn walk-signals, this wouldn’t be necessary! Brian ignored them all, but when one driver stuck three of her five dragon heads out the window to scream at him, smoke billowing from her nostrils, he flipped her off behind his back.

She responded, as one might expect, by breathing fire out of one of her heads, but he was on the sidewalk and able to duck behind a parked car by that point. When he and Vicky heard the tires of her car screech down the street, he peered out and rolled his eyes as hard as he could upon seeing her bumper sticker.

‘McDaniels for MAYOR’

“Typical,” he grumbled.

Vicky gave a half shrug. “Criminal relatives aside, McDaniels wouldn’t be the _worst_ mayor Monstropolis has ever had.”

 Brian just sighed and walked up to his door. The building was that worn-out color somewhere between cream and gray, the door a dark slate. The building’s street address was nailed over the door in metal numbers. One of which apparently lost one nail, because it hung upside down. A small ring of keys jingled in his hand. His fingers gripped one key separated from the other, having already selected the one for the outside door before they got off the bus.

The pair was quiet for the most part as they trudged up the concrete steps. Vicky asked a few questions of the zombie about his day, but the closest they got to a conversation was their out-of-sync footfalls echoing through the stairwell. They were nervous. They knew most of this afternoon’s hang-outs would just be distracting each other from worry until they received news on the heist.

Each floor had a short hallway—not that they were long enough to be called that—with one door on each side. They stopped their ascent on the 7th floor. Upon reaching the door that read 7B, they heard shouting and laughing from inside.

A morose, guttural “Uuuuuurrrh…” grumbled from the back of Brian’s throat.

Vicky gave him a hesitant smile. “Sounds like your family chose _your_ apartment today.” When she was met with more grumblings, she urged him, “Come on, I really want to see your drums! I bet they look great!”

He sighed and reluctantly inserted the next key.

A plastic bowl full of cerebrospinal fluid and Brainy Bits “cereal” struck the wall by the door the second he opened it. Most of the fluid splattered over his face and soaked his coat. And that set the tone for the rest of their walk to Brian’s room.

The door opened into a wide living room and dining room area to the right, with the kitchen around the corner, and a hall leading to other rooms on the left. A group of zombies stood by the dining table. The three who looked about elementary-school age were snickering at the two middle-school aged zombies yelling at them. All the while, a purplish-gray-skinned toddler sitting in a high chair banged a spoon on the little table that confined them to their seat and giggled at them all. A woman’s voice could be heard from the kitchen. Her words couldn’t be made out over the din, but from her tone Brian assumed it was something about keeping their voices down.

Vicky was glad she’d juiced up again before heading out to meet Brian. It gave her reflexes and agility the boost she sorely needed to dodge what Brian’s coat couldn’t block. It definitely looked like everybody that resided on this and the three floors above them decided _this_ was the apartment to spend their after-school hours today.

That wasn’t to say every single one of them had come here with the goal to turn it into a warzone. As they ventured down the hall, most of the doors were open as per the house rules. In one room a group of teens sat on whatever surface they found most comfortable, either using the dresser, or nightstand, or a makeshift lap-desk to do their homework on. All of them had detached their ears and stuffed them into wadded-up socks. Said socks sat in a pile at the end of one of the beds, and when they did need to communicate between each other, they had sticky notes.

The fact that, aside from Vicky, every single monster—children, adolescents, and adults alike—were all zombies was where the resemblances to Brian stopped. If race was still distinguishable in their rotting skin, nobody’s matched up. Even between other green-skinned zombies, nobody even rotted the same shade. With few exceptions not one head of torn hair, nor pair of sunken eyes resembled one another. If one was familiar with the subtle tells in zombie anatomy, they’d notice that the types of zombies—raised from death via magic, infected by a virus, or otherwise—were all different as well.

Despite the short run down the hall to Brian’s room, it wasn’t short enough to make it there unscathed. Brian’s coat had somehow been a magnet for every food-based projectile, much of which unfortunately made it into the hole in the side of his face. None of it tasted good.

No one was sure how. Neither of them was exactly sure when it happened. But between blinks of his eyes, Vicky somehow wound up covered in feathers and tiny paper stars. Thankfully, Brian’s door was set in an alcove, as the hallway didn’t run perfectly straight. The slight bend created a narrow corner, but for Brian and Vicky it was enough to take shelter behind. The war being waged didn’t extend this far into the apartment… because three “raised” voices with one adult woman’s voice were having a serious sounding “discussion” in a room at the end of the hall.

Looking down to check on Vicky catching her breath, concern shaded his face. “You ok?”

She took one more tension-releasing sigh then beamed up at him. “Super!”

He nodded, relieved. He didn’t see what hit her to get all that crap on her, and he really hoped whatever it was wasn’t one of his foster-siblings’ trademark Glitter-Bombs (ft. Hidden Rocks.) He didn’t see any new abrasions, so he assumed not. _Just_ wanting to get into the safety of his room he turned the knob, relaxed when he saw the whole room, both bunk beds and the one single bed were all vacant, entered the room, turned to where his drums were set up and…

Now, Brian wasn’t the most talkative of monsters. When he didn’t feel like bothering to talk to someone, he simply didn’t. But there was a stark difference, as his reanimated friend was able to recognize, between Brian being quiet and Brian going silent. Vicky squeezed around him to get into the room, only to immediately gasp, both hands clasped over her mouth.

On Vicky’s face was expressed a mere half of the devastation she was sure Brian felt.

But he remained completely. Entirely. Still.

Eventually he drew in as much air as his festering lungs would contain to bellow out, in a clearer voice than he normally ever spoke,

**“BECKY!!!”**

Through the whole apartment there was a beat of silence.

Even the ones with their ears stuffed in socks looked up. One held up a sticky note: _‘Did you hear something?’_

That pause in the chaos ended as the cacophony of young zombies crashed back around everyone’s ears. Only one thing changed, really. The woman heard from the kitchen earlier, a woman in her late twenties, or so looks would suggest, now came rushing down the hall. She skirted around the children who ignored her insistent words that they stop running, deftly avoided projectiles, picked up one of the six-year-olds about to throw something _very_ breakable, and set the breakable thing down gently all on the way down the hall.

In a winded voice that suggested her already sluggish heartbeat had stopped upon hearing his scream, she gasped, “Brian!? Are you hur—oh no…”

Two of the tripods holding cymbals were snapped. The snare drum must have been halved with an axe, at least that was the best guess Brian could make at a glance. And the kick drum had a hole kicked _through_ it.

By the time she reached the room, Brian was sitting at his drum set, back leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over his chest. Through the gash in his face she could see his teeth grinding against each other. Vicky sat quietly on the edge of Brian’s bed.

Becky set the child down and softly but firmly murmured to him, “Do not touch that vase, go finish watching your show.” As the kid scampered off, she stepped into the room and swiftly shut the door. “Oh, sweetheart…” One hand went up to the side of her face. Upon surveying the damage in full, the other hand went up to the other side. She picked up one of the cymbals off the ground. “After you worked so hard. Can any of this be repaired?”

“If it could? With what money? I don’t think the government is going to subsidize my god damn drums.”

From all the missions and robberies he and his friends had run over the past few years, Brian had portioned his cuts perfectly. The majority was for Amira. The next biggest portion was to help his foster moms with the bills. The tiny remainder was slowly saved up until he could afford a decent set of god damn drums for when their band eventually got a decent gig. And then he went and got Amira to design the toxic-waste barrel look for him. God knew he couldn’t “design” for shit. She made it simple, nothing fancy, something even he could manage. How hard was it to basically color between the lines? He had her pick out the right colors to paint it because the answer was very hard for him.

Brian was vaguely aware of his foster mom’s hushed voice greeting Vicky, briefly but politely asking her if her day had been ok. Vicky’s response was an uncertain smile and a shrug. It had been anything but ok and would continue to be less than ok, apparently. But she didn’t want to start going talking and accidentally brushing aside how hurt Brian was right now. She was well aware of her own weakness: when she got talking there were no brakes on that bus. Brian had descended into growling again when Becky stepped around to his side, placing a hand on her shoulder and tried to offer some comfort. It was appreciated, but right now he just didn’t fucking care. He didn’t move.

“We are going to have a house meeting. We will figure out who broke it. Accountability is important in this household. For all of us.” Her voice gave firm assurances.

She wasn’t going to make him “just deal with it” all on his own. She never ignored her leading goal: to find families to adopt the zombified children she housed. But while they were under her roof she cared for all her charges as good as she’d care for her own children. That meant supporting them. That meant being in their corner.

He didn’t want to fucking care.

“Doesn’t even matter who did it. It’s done.”

When he shoved off the wall to his feet, Becky calmly stepped back, letting him go.

“Didn’t think everyone would turn the apartment to a zoo _again_ today. Me and Vicky aren’t staying with _that._ ”

As if to make his point for him, there was a crash that suspiciously sounded like the shattering of that vase a certain child had been told not to throw.

Brian nodded at the window and mumbled to Vicky they weren’t making another run through no-man’s land. Vicky didn’t want to leave like this, but she couldn’t agree more. Besides, he was right. There wasn’t much they could do with the apartment so busy aside from homework in Brian’s room. It was obvious the last thing he wanted to do was try to focus on work while being forced to stare at his smashed-up drums the whole time. So, she snatched up her backpack and unlatched the window to slip out onto the fire escape.

“Will you not be home for dinner, then?”

He just grunted a barely intelligible, “I dunno.”

“Text me if you eat somewhere else, otherwise I’m going to save some for you.”

As inarticulately as the first utterance, “Fine.”

“It was great seeing you!” Vicky offered a smile through the window.

“You too, sweetie.” Becky waved even as Brian shoved her out of the way, so he could get his foot through.

“Brian. Look at me.”

He stopped and only turned his head enough to meet her eye for it to technically count as looking at her.

“Whatever you do, tell me nothing and don’t get caught.” Her pale, glazed-over eyes were awash with agonized concern. “All I ask is—”

“Is for me to make it home safe at the end of the night. I know,” he groaned, snapping at her at the end. He wanted to leave it there. Leave angry. _Let_ her worry, if she can’t even notice his bashed-to-shit drum set before he got home or even soon enough to catch who did it—

No. That wasn’t her fault. Every damn afternoon he knew she never invited the other “siblings” over. But a horde of rushing zombies wasn’t a thing that was easily halted. Brian brought his voice under control, forced it into a dead evenness.

“Amira said to tell you thanks. The one night helped her a lot, honestly it did.”

Becky smiled gently. “Tell her she’s very welcome, and I hope she finds a safe place to stay.” Her smile turned to a knowing smirk. “I know the four of you have some plan by now, I’m sure you’ll make something work.”

Brian nodded. He paused again before adding, “I promise to be careful.”

He hunched his shoulders to get through the window. Becky listened to their feet clamoring down the fire escape, waiting until they made it all the way down to be sure neither of them fell and got injured. Upon seeing them safely walking down the sidewalk, she closed the window and locked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two separate references in this chapter. I swear I love you ALL already for reading this far, but if you know one or both you get a liiittle extra love from me. ;D  
> (Hint to the more obscure one: Anybody read novels by Darren Shan?)
> 
> And hey, thanks for all the kudos and really nice comments. You guys are all awesome. ^u^


	9. Let's Call it a Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5th Day of Christmas!

Vicky spoke at a casual yet constant pace. She was laying out solutions and alternatives to Brian’s suggestion that they simply cancel their gig next week. He _did_ listen and give earnest thought into each course of action she proposed. Even the ones she herself found fault in and discounted, he considered maybe there was a way to make it work—one adjustment to the idea conceptually that would make it work. However, he wasn’t really in the mood for contributing, most of his responses coming out in low grunts. Good thing Vicky was fluent in Brian’s undead growlings. She knew how to interpret the uncertainty in the plans he found weaker, and thoughtful consideration in the ones he saw potential.

Honestly, truly, he tried to get a little more on board with her scheming, but he simply wasn’t in the mood for putting any of those ideas into action. Not after the day they’d all been having. Coming home to his demolished drums wasn’t what he had in mind for a distraction from Amira and Oz’s high-risk heist.

A heavy sigh that ended a short grunt rumbled out of the hole in Brian’s mouth. His personal version of, “Fuck it.”

“Vicky, do you have the device?”

Given that her stream-of-thought speaking flowed as powerful and ceaseless as a river, it was pretty impressive when she could stop herself mid-word and pivot to listening to her friends.

“Which one?”

“Our newest one. The… the one for the—”

“Operation: IRL Blue-Screen of Death?”

“That’s the one.”

She nudged her shoulders up, jostling her backpack. “Right in here.”

Vicky’s current face had been damaged in transport and one of the scars her mother had to stitch ran out of her mouth at the corner of her lip. So, when she smiled, that smile seemed to travel unnaturally, reaching farther up her face than it should. The frenzied, eager anticipation in her eyes did not help.

“Let’s do a test-run. See how it actually performs.”

Vicky waggled her eyebrows, shooting him a playfully smug grin. “What happened to Mr. Not-Ready-For-Field-Tests?”

He countered her smug-ass grin with an unamused squint. All the same, he shrugged. “If we know how bad it fucks up, we’ll better know what needs to be fixed.”

Electricity sparked from the bolts in the Frankenstein’s monster’s neck. In the low light of nighttime Brian could see sparks in the toothy smile wide on her face. He wondered just _how much_ she charged up with those car batteries of hers today.

“I know just the target for our tests.”

\---

A deep rumble that shook the air was the prelude to the southern half of the city going dark. Through a pair of binoculars, Vicky surveyed the exploded remnants of the So.Mo. Power Station in the distance.

“Well that wasn’t supposed to happen.” The nonchalance in her voice only hit the slightest sour note, her disappointment tempered by curiosity.

She stood near the edge of the rooftop of… whatever building they had broken into. Brian sat cross legged with “the device” in front of him. It was a clearly improvised electronic apparatus. Its design less than elegant, but compact. Its operability simple, yet its capabilities anything but.

(Well… duh, on that count.)

Hunched over, he held his notebook with its cover folded over to make his writing-surface more stable. He held his pen’s cap between his teeth to keep it out of his way as he jotted down notes on their observations as well as Vicky’s comments. Arms crossed over her chest, chin rested on the back of her knuckles, most of what she said were rambled questions about hypotheticals, but they were still useful for review later on. Sometimes an epiphany inspired by an offhanded thought was what saved a project from the scrap heap. Here and there, Brian would offer remarks

At the end of her speculative soliloquy, Vicky hit another realization.

“Eeehhh… we haven’t really tested out how easily law enforcement might be able to trace this one. Maybe we should check—”

“A’ready on it.” Brian was typing away, the FraME app open on his phone. “Five bidders. Any objections to these?”

Vicky leaned in to read better as he held the phone out to her. A disgusted grimace contorted her face. “ _I’ll_ say! There is no way I’m letting some upstart off-branch of the KKK take credit for our hard work.”

“Our hard work failed,” Brian noted.

“I have too much pride in the fruits of our labors to throw it into the hands of sluggards who don’t deserve it.”

“Monumentally failed.”

“Who would even believe they’re capable of the technological expertise you and I have?”

“I’m completely at a loss as to how we did that.” He pointed to the billowing smoke in the distance.

“ _It’s the principle of the thing, Brian!_ I will not be party to providing notoriety to a bigoted frat-house from the backwoods of bumfuck nowhere with no real sense of purpose.” She raised the binoculars to her eyes to get one more look at the rubble. Then waved her hand dismissively through the air, huffing out, “Just let the KGB take this one. At least _they’re_ professionals. They’re offering the second highest bid, anyway.”

Of all the apps Vera Oberlin’s little crime conglomerate was responsible for creating, FraMe was by far Vicky’s favorite. It’s a simple, incredibly useful app. When you’ve found yourself the cause of mass destruction with a high mortality rate and maybe didn’t cover your tracks as pristinely as you normally do, you can post a listing for the tragedy you created, and villains, shady paramilitary groups, and terrorist organizations can all bid to claim credit for it.

They got to say it was for whatever cause they’re promoting, and you, the true criminal, got money and got away with your misdeeds.

Brian rolled his eyes and accepted the KGB’s bid. He’d bother to hide his smile if his messed-up facial nerves didn’t partially do that for him already. He was mostly giving her a hard time. The Klan was offering the smallest bid, they weren’t going to give it to _them._ He just knew if he pressed the matter he’d spark a rant about “the principle of the thing.”

“Well, you win this one, zom-boy. I wasn’t even close to right, and we ended up having to utilize FraMe. So a deal’s a deal. Dinner is my treat.”

“We didn’t place any bets.”

“Yeah, but it sounds more fun that way.”

From the moment he ushered her out the fire escape, she’d had no intentions of letting their night end without taking him out for a quiet dinner. Emphasis on “quiet.” And Brian wasn’t the type to refuse to let a friend pay for him out of pride. He just made sure he was expressively grateful and kept a mental note to do something to repay them when he could.

They ended up going to a café that made great sandwiches and allowed for the meats to be substituted with human brains. It was so much better than the minuscule menu for zombie-sensitive meals most restaurants had. Vicky only ordered a small side to nibble on. It was Thursday. Mondays and Thursdays were family night for the Schmidt household. It was the compromise to let her have her Friday nights and weekends with her friends.

Sure enough, as Brian finished his meal Vicky’s phone beeped with her mom’s text alert.

“That’ll be the dinner bell.”

The text let her know her mother would soon start cooking. Her mom was kind enough to give her advance warning so whatever she was doing she could wrap what she needed to and get a ride home in time.

Brian eyed her over the soda he carefully slurped down. As she read it, her shoulders sunk a little. Her hand lowered as if the phone it held had grown heavier. It wasn’t nervousness, nor was she upset. His friend simply looked… tired.

“See you at school tomorrow, yeah?”

She quickly recovered when she met his eyes.

“Right.” Her shoulders heaved with a deep sigh. “I kinda wish we at least had enough time to hear back from Amira and Oz, though.”

“Same.”

Vicky dug her wallet out of her backpack and pulled a few neatly-tucked bills so he could pay.

“I’ll give you back the change at school.”

“Cool, cool!” She beamed with one last smile as she skipped outside to hail a taxi.

On the ride to her home, the radio was turned to the news station. The current story was on the violent car-chase that carved destruction and death down the street earlier that evening.

\---

“Yes, Mom. I will remember my dental checkup after school Monday! I have a huge project to work on, so I promise I’m not ignoring you if you call for me. I’m going to have headphones in.”

Vicky skated across the hardwood floor with her fuzzy socks, past an apparently human woman with curly hair almost the same as the blue-skinned young lady. Almost the same. This woman didn’t have the same stark streak of white in her hair, though she was going gray at the temples. And hers was shorter, cut right above the shoulders. They did look so similar. Though… looking too closely, the resemblance almost looked off. Surely, it must just be the tint of Vicky’s skin and the clear marks of reanimation that made the differences in their faces _seem_ more prominent than they were. Surely.

“Good, good. That’s fine. I’ll be putting your father to bed soon, but I’ll be up late. I have some work to finish. Just keep your phone with you so I can text if I need you.”

“Mom, I’m going to _use_ my phone for music.”

“Since when can phones do that?” she gasped in a mocking tone. Monstropolis’s leading expert on bio-engineering? A renowned scientist who’d hit her prime and never stopped advancing? You think that woman wouldn’t be up to date on modern technology enough to understand how smart phones worked? It was a joke, and Vicky knew it.

“I love you, Mom!” she chirped back before shutting her door.

“I love you too, dear!” her mom called up the stairs.

Behind the door, Vicky pressed her back up against it and let her shoulders relax. Maybe she let them relax a little too hard. It was tempting to slide down, curl up on the floor where she stood, and go to sleep right there. She pushed herself off the door to sink into her bean bag chair. She pulled her backpack closer—she’d dropped it off in her room soon as she got home—but had no intentions of getting out her homework yet.

Her face wasn’t wrought with aching emotions or twisted from deeply-suppressed upset feelings. She just finally stopped beaming sunshine from every pore.

Later in the night, a small, dog-headed imp scratched on her window just as she removed her headphones to call it a night on her last assignment. It was a different one from earlier, this one had the head of a terrier. One of Amira’s familiars. It carried two pieces of paper in its mouth. She opened the window to receive one of the papers, then it leapt out into the night. Presumably, to deliver the other note. A gentle, more tender smile rose on Vicky’s lips as she read.

_We are ACES! The heist couldn’t have gone better if we TRIED._

_(Though Oz got slooooooshed)_

_OMG you should have SEEN them! You guys are not going to fucking BELIEVE what they did! Btw their phone is dead if you’ve been trying to reach them. And mine’s been kicked off the family plan._

_Also… we gotta… talk…_

_Don’t worry it’s not a big thing, actually it’s pretty damn funny._

_We’re both at my motel room. Which I basically have indefinitely. Also a job. Working FOR Vera. So, who knows, maybe I’ll be able to pay you guys back in my lifetime._

_I love you both so fucking much. I still feel like shit, but you kept me from being homeless shit. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you guys’ support. Hope you guys had a good night._

 

The bottom of the page was a flood of doodled little hearts and signed, “Amira.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortie, but I hope you found it a goodie.  
> It will be a RARE THING if another singular "day" takes this many chapters again. I didn't even mean for this one to be so long. But, well, at least now I hope we're well-acquainted enough with the 4-main monsters and 2 of our love-interests. :3  
> Cause this shit's gonna get angst-ier before it gets fluffier. >:3
> 
> I make one singular promise: next chapter is JUST fun. I had so much fun writing it, and if I had time to add another chapter in our 12-day Christmas Gift Special, I'd post it now. Sadly, I do not. It'll be posted Monday. <3  
> If anyone's interested in what music I listen to for this story, I almost exclusively use this album: https://srkp.bandcamp.com/album/absurding-ost  
> (Specifically this chapter's main track is "St. Katherine Church")


	10. Secret Bets and Arson Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7th Day of Christmas-Special updates, and a Happy New Year to you all!
> 
> I promised you a purely fun chapter would happen eventually, and here it is as the last update of the year. There's still 2 more xmas-gift updates, but even after that I hope what I write continues to be enjoyable into next year.

The obnoxiously cheerful melody of her phone’s alarm roused Amira from her sleep. Good lord, she hated the sound of it. But if she picked too pleasant a ringtone she’d sleep right through it. This was a proven fact and it was not worth the risk of missing her bus and being late to homeroom again.

 **Shit**!

Shitshitshit where even was the nearest bus stop???

As she shot up from the bed and grabbed her phone to shut off the alarm, she noticed the hinn she’d sent last night sitting on the foot of the bed. She thought she instructed them to leave once he was done? With a bow of his head, he presented her with a new note. As soon as she took it, her familiar hopped back and disappeared into a puff of smoke.

 

_Nearest bus stop to you is by the HindenBurger on Shakedown St. Idk time though._

He’d started to write something else but crossed it out.

_Nvm, Nikolai shook down our downstairs neighbor for info. Should be there by 7:15_

_-Brian_

_P.S. He promises to flay him if you miss your bus._

 

She recognized the name as one of Brian’s older foster brothers. Well that was sweet of him. The sigh released from her lungs was hot enough to give a person a steam burn. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet planted on the worn-down carpet, she made a goofy smile and tilted her head to the side.

“Awh, boy. You dumb fucking nerds are the best.” She wished she could text them saying so. Checking the time, she knew she’d have to start moving but there was no need to rush just yet. Shakedown Street was right at the end of Chalk Outline Ave, where this motel stood. The HindenBurger shouldn’t be too far down. At least her commute would be a little easier. Got to find the silver linings, right? The sound of shifting of blankets drew her attention to the monster behind her. Oz was still out cold, and still only in their underwear, but they were so bundled in the first blanket she’d wrapped them in that it didn’t even get awkward when she had to sleep in her bra and underwear. She’d be going to school in the same clothes from two days ago. She didn’t want to sleep in them a second night, too. That would be the _first_ thing she took care of.

One hand delicately raised before her, a single flame ignited on the tip of her nail. She artfully drew a flaming symbol in the air that, when completed, flared up and a small imp with the head of a dark brown and white Canaan dog hopped onto the floor in a kneel. It was younger than the hinn her parents had sent. Barely past the age where it could still be considered a puppy.

“Here’s the key to this room.” She flipped the spare key with her thumb, sending it twirling through the air to be caught between the hinn’s teeth. “You’ll be allowed into the Rashid house to collect my things.”

The hinn tilted her head to the side and gave a confused whine.

“Don’t ask. I don’t want everything yet.” Casting her eyes around the room, she definitely didn’t have the space. “For now just pack my clothes, all my toiletries, some makeup, and… I don’t know… whatever stuff I normally need for school.”

Yeah. Going to classes with only the books and notebooks she kept in her locker one day was bad enough. Now she had to do it for a second day. If she showed up “unprepared” again on Monday at least three of her teachers would attempt throwing her to the Rancor.

“Take as many trips as you like. I don’t give a damn if any members of the household see you,” she instructed with spite-laced her words. “Remember to lock the room when you leave and return the key to me when you’re done.”

With a happy yip, she dashed out the room at an unnatural speed. The door magically opened and close to let her out. Her familiars had small, limited magic powers so they could perform their duties. Amira looked back at Oz, reaching over to wake them—then remembered. Suspension. No doubt they’d be facing the full brunt of their hangover as soon as they woke. And without classes to get to, there was no reason to get them up this early. If she skipped school again—the thought had crossed her mind—maybe she would. But that wasn’t an option after taking almost a full week off. She didn’t want to make Oz suffer the waking world alone for so long. Instead, she reached to pull the duvet over them.

Getting ready for school was no problem. You know. With only her same old clothes to put on, no makeup on hand, and only cheap liquid hand soap in the bathroom if she wanted a shower that bad. She did not want a shower _that_ bad. Her backpack was at school in her locker. Before leaving, she’d been about to take it with her to the heist, but instead decided the homework could go fuck itself.

As she headed for the door, she looked back at Oz again. She wanted to have Brian or Vicky text them when she got to school, but their phone was still dead. She knew they had their charger on them, but it was in that void in their chest and she wasn’t about to just reach in and grab it. She wasn’t even sure how to open it without Oz wanting it open. She tried poking the two little phobias popping out of their neck to rest on the pillow, but both were passed out as hard as Oz.

Amira grabbed the notepad she’d used last night from the night stand. Scribbling down a note, she managed to trick one of the phobias into wrapping their little stick-arms to cuddle it. That way Oz was sure to find it.

Going down the stairs at a slow pace, Amira decided to give a little heads-up to the monster at the check-in desk. Heading into the little building, she saw it was in fact the same guy from last night. Not surprising since his type of demon were known for never needing sleep. Handy for a round-the-clock job.

“Upton, my guy!”

“Kid,” he replied flatly. The dark, dusky-purple skinned demon with two tusk-like fangs protruding from their lower row of teeth didn’t look up from his newspaper. The nametag pinned to his shirt read, “Upton O. Goode.”

“My familiar is gonna be in and out getting stuff for me. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot her on sight.”

 “Noted.”

“Thanks a mil!” Amira winked, popped two finger-guns, and was about to back out the door when he spoke again.

“Miss Oberlin left a message for you.”

Amira paused, curious as to why she didn’t text her directly when she remembered. Yeah. That was going to be a pain not being able to text until she set up a new phone plan. Hell, she could barely remember she couldn’t use it for longer than ten seconds! It had been such a constant in her life.

“That message is?”

“She wants you to meet her in the library as soon as you arrive at school. Word of advice, do not keep her waiting.”

“Noted,” Amira replied as flatly as he’d said it to her. His face remained unmoving. All the same, she winked and left to go catch her bus.

(You mean the one with the “Spooky High” sign in the back window, driving away as you turned the corner?)

“That lying little shit!” It was definitely not even 7:15 yet! Oh somebody was getting flayed by Nikolai today.

Amira broke into a sprint, building speed before letting her body disperse into sand. Slipping through the wind, she managed to breeze through an open window as the bus turned a corner, rematerializing in the middle of the aisle.

(Yes, of course she struck a pose.)

Her close catch and superb entrance earned cheers from the students awake enough to have noticed.

\---

Upon reaching the library, she found the door… closed. Why was it closed?

The question hadn’t finished crossing her mind when one of the double doors flung open to reveal Scott doing his best impression of an angry face. Again, not even time to ask, he grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her in. Amira felt the whoosh of the door swinging shut behind her.

“Morning?” Amira greeted the werewolf, not at all hiding the confusion in her tone. He looked like he was _trying_ to be angry, and yet his tail was wagging a mile a minute.

“I’m the bouncer!” Scott growled seriously……before his frown immediately snapped up into a smile and his tail really kicked up speed.

“Vera said I get to let people in and keep out aaanybody who’s not on the list.”

“The _list?_ ”

The list was printed on a piece of paper and taped to the back of the door, probably so Scott wouldn’t forget who was on it or lose it. His own name was at the top, presumably so he wouldn’t forget he was allowed inside too. Wait a minute, that list of ten names included—

Amira dashed over to the area deeper in the library with all the larger tables for groups to sit together. She found she was one of the last two to arrive. Among the current seven attendees sitting around one table were both Brian and Vicky. They immediately looked to her, barely hiding the confused fear on their faces at their current predicament. Unfortunately she couldn’t answer the question as to why they warranted an invitation to an apparently secret meeting seated across from Miranda Vanderbilt, Polly Geist, Valerie Oberlin, and Liam de Lioncourt. Also… the slayer??? Why was she here? She looked no more comfortable with her company than Amira’s own buddies, but no shit. She was a student monster slayer. The real question was why she wasn’t currently attempting to slay one or more of them.

“You’re all here. Good. We can begin,” said Vera’s voice behind her.

As she walked to the two remaining open chairs, she motioned for Amira to follow her. While she was all too happy to be offered the seat next to Vera, it unfortunately placed her apart from her friends.

 “Some of you are worth something,” Vera began, “some of you are worth less than nothing. But, seeing how the only events of any _consequence_ in this school seem to revolve around the lot of you, you’re the only ones I need to bother involving in this.”

(Well surely that’s not tr—…… hm.)

“I believe we all recall yesterday’s lunchtime incident.”

“Incident? That’s putting it mildly,” Liam huffed. The slayer sneered, nodding in agreement to that. Then his eyes shifted to Brian and Vicky. “Not that I necessarily think fault lays wholly with Oz. It’s this school’s own ineptitude and neglect for the elder forms of magic that failed to prepare countermeasures for its pupils against the outbursts of the eldritch students here.”

Brian noted Oz was the only eldritch entity in their school at least as a student, but nobody aside from Vicky, Amira, and Liam were used to speaking to the zombie with the half-torn mouth. To everyone else, his words came out mumbled and garbled, and they quickly assumed he’d spoke no words at all. Some looked confused when Liam responded,

“True.”

“Incident?” Miranda inquired.

“You can _not_ tell me you had your memories of Oz’s rampage purged, too?” Valerie snorted.

“Oh! You mean that! I see. My confusion simply came from your referral to the event as an ‘incident.’ I saw the _whole_ thing. That serf they were speaking to was completely out of line.” Miranda grimaced at the mere thought of what she said next. “If serfs aren’t properly disciplined, how do you expect the ones who survive to learn their place?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Liam sneered.

“Whoa—whoa—whoa,” Polly gaped. “You mean that crazy thing I saw Oz turn into _wasn’t_ a bad trip?”

Vera rolled her eyes. “No, Polly, that wasn’t your trip.”

“Oh shoot.” Polly face turned downcast, and she floated a little lower to the floor. “Then I really did see that unicorn riding a polka-dotted manticore. And I didn’t even get a selfie, awwwh dayuuum.”

(Won’t lie, I wasn’t paying attention to her at the time. But that very likely _was_ part of her trip.)

Vera glowered at everyone. “Focus! That confirms it then. We all saw it. But _Damien didn’t._ ”

The slayer sneered at the very mention of the demon. She started to shout something—probably “prepare to die”—but was talked-over by Liam.

“Figures. He sets a bonfire during class in the middle of my fascinating presentation that was sure to illuminate the minds of my plebian classmates, evades capture, and doesn’t even have to suffer the horrific minor catastrophe everyone else did.”

“Is this what you mentioned last night in your note?” Vicky piped up.

Mostly, everyone was caught off guard to hear one of the losers of the school contribute to the conversation. Though, this was Vicky, and it was known she was not a monster afraid to speak or offer her opinion, no matter whose company she was in. The difference between her doing it and Amira was she didn’t quite have Amira’s level of charisma.

She was looking to her fire-haired friend, caution in her eyes. “Because I’m not seeing where this is funny.”

Brian had a similar wary gaze. In all fairness, they were poisoned this morning with their only clue being a sticky-note that read “Library” on their backpacks and forced to race to find Vera to get the antidote. Those who was poisoned for this meeting had a vial of the antidote waiting at the table for them.

Vera cast a glance at Amira. After a few moments of eye contact, the gorgon—Amira’s new boss, she supposed—nodded. “Tell them.”

Amira went on to lay down the situation. Having been given Vera’s approval, everyone listened to her intently. Vera only interjected to add what Damien said in the car when the ifrit wasn’t present. The information was as surprise, sure, but hardly worth going to all this trouble. Then she got to the part in the junkyard. That go the crowd roaring. Or, at least Polly, Valerie, and the slayer. With laughter. Polly phased half through her chair as she clutched her stomach and spilled ghostly tears from her eyes.

Laughter failed to exit Vicky’s lungs, but the open-mouthed smile on her face was nearly wide enough to rip the stitches. Brian’s eyes went almost that wide before his jaw popped off and clattered on the table.

“No way,” Liam said firmly. “Come on, Damien isn’t that…”

The word the vampire was looking for was “stupid,” but it was silenced by the emergence of truth in his mind.

(Rising from her well with her female-presenting nipples.)

Vera gave him a meaningful look. “ _Liam._ ”

Liam’s haughty exterior withered to a grimace. “He truly is, isn’t he?”

“How marvelous!” Miranda clapped. “What an exciting turn of events!” she giggled.

“I’ve already had the rest of the students blackmailed or threatened so they say _nothing_ to either Damien or Oz,” Vera explained. “Actually had to resort to blackmail a lot less than I expected. Apparently the psychological damage Oz caused was so great almost all of the weaker students’ minds refuse to remember. If you try forcing the memories they crumple in horror right in front of you.”

(Why do I get the sense you tried this on more than one student?)

“Most of the ones of stronger minds do remember, but don’t _want_ to. Most of them got panicked or got sick just from me _mentioning_ Oz’s name.”

The slayer was too proud to let it show, especially in the middle of this group of vicious, vile monsters, but every time Oz was mentioned a chill ran through her insides as well. Under her capelet her fingers dug into her arms as she tried to power through it. She secretly counted herself lucky she’d gotten the tar beaten out of her and was in the Nurse’s office for lunch period. It had saved her from becoming a jibbering mess.

“And even those from both groups who remembered, a good portion had their memories magically suppressed by the Nurse because the stress was too great. Like Scott, for example.” She nodded in the direction of the door Scott stood guard at. “It left very few monsters who needed to be forced into silence.”

“You took care of the whole school all in one night?” Amira asked in disbelief.

Vera smirked. “Ye of such little faith. But no, not all personally. I have people.”

 _‘Oh. Right. Duh, Amira,’_ the ifrit scoffed at herself. After all, she was now one of those “people.”

Brian re-attached his jaw and spoke slowly, enunciating his words as best as he could.

“Ya’ brought us all ‘ere ta silence us, then?”

That was what Amira assumed this was all about. At least until she saw the wry smirk twisting her lips. Wait… at the junkyard… didn’t Vera say? Oh, she was serious wasn’t she?

“Well, to make sure you keep your mouths shut, _and_ to start a little betting pool.”

Every. Single. Pair. Of. Eyes. Lit. Up.

All with dangerous levels of delight in their grins.

Before another word could be said, Liam was on his feet to pull one of the chalkboards that stood on wheeled wooden frames over to the table. He got to work drawing up a grid.

“Oh yes!” Miranda cheered. “I am very fond of this proud tradition. Though, when my family members place bets, it’s on two commoners killing each other because they want to see us happy. Or horse races. Shall we bet on who is most likely to perish and cut their romance tragically short?”

Miranda’s fellow peers of popularity gave her looks that said, “oh, sweetie, please. As if.” But that was more or less how Miranda rolled: assuming everything in this school was for the sake of romance, so they let it slide.

(I’ll just be over here, nonchalantly sipping my tea.)

The slayer bit down on her lip to stifle a cackle. Amira’s lips twisted into a forced frown to hide how bad she wanted to laugh. Brian and Vicky were less composed, snickering at the very idea of a _romance_ between Damien and Oz. Leaning in towards Vicky, Brian mumbled,

“If that’s not the most unlikely-to-fucking-happen couple in the history of Spooky High, I’ll eat my coat.”

Liam, standing close enough to hear him, sputtered out a snicker hidden by his hand as well.

(Why is the narrator sweating, looking at the tags? Why, indeed.)

“As long as you’re excluding that Interdimensional space-shit getting with _anyone,_ ” Vicky corrected him, to which he nodded his full agreement.

“We could add an option for if Oz dies before Damien ever knows,” Vera said thoughtfully.

Amira cleared her throat. Loudly.

Catching the hard look Amira threw her, Vera remembered.

“Ah, right. I’m afraid part of the agreement is no harm comes to Oz for the sake of this.” She rolled her eyes as she said, “And it would just be boring if Damien died before ever knowing.”

“Well,” Amira offered, “we don’t have to exclude _natural_ deaths. Wouldn’t put it past Damien to go to his grave never knowing.”

That earned laughter from everyone.

“Very well then. Liam, add it.”

He did so, happily.

It was decided Valerie, as shop-keeper of the school with experience handling people’s money and keeping pristine records of her transactions, she would be the most reliable to hold the pool. They spent the rest of their time before the first bell offering up possible scenarios, adding the good ones, laughing at the implausible yet still funny bad ones. The grid of possibilities grew long enough that Vera decided to allow for multiple bets as long as none of scenarios didn’t conflict with each other.

They were fortunate their school had a later start time than most other high schools. Partly because the school ran into evening hours for the students that couldn’t attend during daylight hours with any amount of solar-protection, partly because, as previously mentioned, some students were making a hell of a commute. The later start time accounts for those students, still making them get up early, but not so early as to be unreasonable.

(Some still call it unreasonable and you get one guess as to who of our named characters that is.)

That was good, because the allowance for multiple bets started up extensive debates on what constituted a conflict between scenarios. Some were obvious, like the main two eventualities: ‘Damien figures it out on his own’ and ‘Oz realizes and has to tell him.’ You can’t bet on _both_ of those. But things like: ‘Damien fucks Oz before finding out’ and ‘Damien finds out while fucking Oz.’ Do _those_ conflict with each other? Vera kept herself open to hearing all arguments on each conflict, but ultimately had the final say on what was or was not allowed. Then she was asked about changes to the pool as time went on. Amira suggested they could add non-conflicting bets after this, but once a bet was placed there were no take-backs.

Vera nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ll allow that.”

Everyone was so enwrapped in the game, the first bell startled them all. They’d laid down at least one bet, but none of them felt nearly done. They all looked to Vera.

“Everyone snap a picture,” she pointed to the chalkboard and everyone hurriedly dug out their phones. “I don’t want any cheaters. Somebody take that and document it in Excel or something,” she commanded.

“I’m on it,” Amira offered.

“Good. We’ll reconvene at later date.”

“What if they figure it out before we do?” Liam asked.

“Oz is suspended, remember? We have—how long are they suspended for?”

Amira grimaced. She didn’t want to say the reason for it—again, because few knew what Oz really was. Oz never intended for it to be a big secret, but there was no denying their anxiety and reluctance to talk about the subject to monsters they weren’t close with. Out of respect for their privacy, the Nerd Squad made a point not to give away that information without Oz’s express consent.

“They’re on an indefinite suspension… but I can’t imagine they’ll be let back for at least two weeks.” At least that was what she assumed. When Oz went full-out with rage, even for a brief time, that fear-aura tended to linger.

Everyone sent looks of shock between the members of said Nerd Squad in turn. Suspension was one thing—honestly, a pretty common thing in this school for god damn _monsters._ Indefinite suspensions were another thing entirely and were rare.

“Yes. Well. There you have it. We have time. Now come on, we’ll be late.”

Everyone took their pictures of the board, gathered up their bags, and bolted out, ushering Scott out along with them. He didn’t want to leave for class without their say-so. He’d promised to guard the door… and he’d been doing so… even against the librarian trying to get in to prepare for the day.

\---

You know what the biggest problem with employing teachers who are ancient even by the standards of their monster-type’s lifespan, to the extent that they’re almost deaf from old age, is? They’re teaching _high-school aged_ monsters and they’re _almost completely deaf._ No shit the students talk to each other constantly, they can’t even get caught for it.

Bad luck for Damien: when he looked to the seats around him, he found himself denied even one monster worth talking to. Not even to threaten into a good conversation. He’d threatened or beaten up everyone nearby in the past. Cowardly shit-heels, every fucking one of them. It was only sixth year. He had the rest of this and two more years of high school left, and everyone was getting so boring to beat up. There were hopes for the start of next year, when they tended to get an influx of exchange students and transfers, but that didn’t solve his problem _now._ And Damien was an in-the-moment kind of monster.

(Well that’s a nice way of saying “impatient” and “completely lacking in foresight.”)

However, in the corner he found a potential solution for his “now” problem. Amira sat alone, and honestly looked more miserably bored than he did. Of course, that could be the lack of makeup again today. Oh fuck, right, that and getting disowned by her parents. That _did_ happen just the other day.

 _‘Yeah I fuckin’ wish my dads would disown me from this heir to the throne crap,’_ he snorted in his head. Seeing how none of her loser friends were in this class, he stood, walked up, grabbed one of the random noobs next to her out of their seat, and threw them across the room. Amira’s eyes shifted curiously to him as the monster crashed into Damien’s old seat. The teacher turned in time to see the student breaking the desk upon landing, by which point Damien was quietly sitting.

“Benni the jackalope, if you’re not going to sit quietly through my lecture you can sit quietly in Principal Giant Spider’s office,” the old monster wheezed.

The student tried to protest but was answered only with a screeching roar out of the teacher’s pale-skinned, unhinged jaw. Everyone had to cover their ears, and the teacher only stopped when the student ran out in tears to the principal’s office.

“Now then, where were we? Ah, right, before miss Benni so rudely interrupted us—” The teacher turned back to the chalkboard and that was everyone’s cue to resume their conversations. And Damien’s cue to start up one with the ifrit who’d definitely been sitting next to him the entire time, with about as much tact as he ever had.

“So, homeless, huh? That’s gotta suck.”

If Amira looked miserable before he opened his mouth, now her expression turned abysmal.

“No shit, LaVey.” Their post-heist party had been great and all, with the greatest surprise being she and Oz hung out with Damien and Vera and they all _got along._ And she wouldn’t lie, part of her was hoping for one _normal fucking conversation_ with this asshole that didn’t end in a fire-fight. But she was still dealing with the fact that her family was definitely disowning her. They hadn’t sent her any _official_ notice yet, but with everything she was slowly being boxed out of she could feel it coming. Also, the murder of her parents’ messenger might be partially responsible for any delay in further communications.

Taking all that into account, she really wasn’t in the mood for his incapability to not be an ass.

“You said it was your own sister who dragged you out? No wait. She had her fucking familiar do it. And here I thought ifrits were all about that fire-magic, but damn. That’s cold. You gotta be piiiiiisssed.”

You know what? Maybe this shit _should_ end in a fist-fight.

“If you want to _fucking go right now_ I’m more than happy to beat your ass to death and send you crying home to your daddies,” she snarled.

Instead of the wrathful response she expected, all she got was his usual relaxed, cocky-as-shit smile.

“See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Better offer though: You were… actually right yesterday.”

Amira found it almost funny—his hesitation to admit that. Hell, his cheeks almost had a hint of pink from embarrassment at saying it. Too bad she was stuck on feeling annoyed.

“No shit, but what are you talking about?” Her voice came out as half sneer, half chuckle.

“About us blowing up shit together. Look, you’re clearly pissed as hell. And why shouldn’t you be? If I get kicked out one day for pissing off my dads, that’d be one thing. But if they kicked me out just ‘cause I was trans? You can fucking _believe_ I’d be tearing apart the entire Eighth Circle of Hell right now.”

“Well, thanks, I guess,” she snorted. What even was this? His sorry attempt at being compassionate? The heaviest sigh of searing-hot air released from her chest. “Just—out with it already, LaVey. What do you _want?_ ”

Damien sat back in his seat, shoulders relaxed, and tail low to the ground, slowly waving side to side. “Unless something interesting comes up like yesterday—which it never fucking does—I usually hit the city to destroy some shit. Great way to vent.” He met her eyes again. “What I _want_ is to know if you’re down.” He had such a wicked, devious little grin on his face. It was almost adorable.

Amira fully expected the next words out of his mouth to send her into a fury. Instead he’d laid out an offer that was… tempting.

Ok, it was more than tempting. It sounded really fucking good. Like the kind of venting her inner fire was craving. _Fuming_ at not being let out. She had her friends she could always rely on for emotional support, and they loved to take each other out on mischief-sprees to let off some steam or just for funsies. But with Vicky and Brian, there was always and extent to which she had to hold back, control herself. She wouldn’t have to with Damien, he was burn-proof. It would be more like the times she and Oz were on their own together. Only angrier.

Right now…

She _needed_ angrier.

“I thought I was a smoke-spitting shit-heel at worst, arson rival at best?” She was quoting something he’d shouted at her in the middle of one of their previous fire-fights.

Damien chuckled villainously as ever, but this time it didn’t sound like such a threat. “You _are_ a smoke-spitting shit-heel. Buuut you’re also the only monster with fire-powers in this school who’s actually worth a damn at using them other than me. Like you said, my fire is hardcore, and dammit if your fire isn’t hardcore, too.” He shrugged. “I don’t see why we can’t be arson rivals _and_ arson friends.”

The concept took a moment to sink in. Well, the concept wasn’t hard to grasp, more the part where it was being offered up by Damien LaVey. Though, as it did sink in, Amira nodded thoughtfully, considering the potential for stress-relieving destruction. If imagining the car was her sister as they destroyed it last night felt good, by all sane logic, pretending a building was her whole traitorous family and destroying it had to be better. Clearly, he’d already given it his own consideration if he thought the sheer havoc they could wreak would be worth having to spend time with her.

“Arson friends it is.”

They shook hands to seal the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's been wondering how long "Clueless Damien" is gonna get dragged out, this chapter is as close to an answer as you're gonna get. >:3  
> Our little gambling party haven't laid out all their bets yet, but feel free to comment how you all think this will play out.  
> [muahahahaha!]  
> Or just comment in general--you know I love hearing from you all.
> 
> (Btw, HindenBurger: real burger joint, I shit you not.)


	11. Only in Your Dreams, Noob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not apologizing.

The buildings surrounding the motel kept the sunlight from reaching through the windows of Amira’s room until after mid-day. By which time Amira was hours gone, off to school, leaving Oz in a deep sleep cocooned in blankets a little too warm for a late-spring/early-summer day. The previous night had been on the chilly side, but even between the shade of the taller buildings it was significantly warmer now. The alcohol _did not_ help. Add the sunlight directly on the bed, it grew mercilessly hot for Oz in their unconscious state.

Hot like the fires of that car when Vera blew it up with the dynamite from Damien.

Of course it was Damien…

Within Oz’s personal vestibule in the world of dreams, they were still at the junkyard. Their sweater had disappeared somewhere—oh right, they never put it back on—but they still had their button-up shirt and the harness. Only now they stood mere feet away from the bonfire that was the blackening car. The heat was sweltering, but their feet didn’t back away. It wasn’t a problem, though. Even if they could feel fear and be afraid of getting burned, something like this couldn’t do any real damage to them. Besides… there was even an element of the pain… that singe just under the threshold of being unbearable, that they found exhilarating.

Honestly, it was more worrying that they almost felt like they couldn’t leave the heat of the burning car if they wanted to. But their sleeping mind didn’t linger on that for long. Somebody stepped up behind them. Well, they _were_ here with three other monsters. Oz assumed it was Amira.

That wasn’t whose voice they heard.

“Got one more stick of dynamite. You want it?” came Damien’s wicked growl behind them. Oz could hear the smile in the demon’s voice, taunting Fear Itself. Though, they had no idea what he was teasing them about.

Their mind told them, _‘Oh, that’s just how he is.’_ How quickly dreams brush doubt aside.

With eyes that smiled at the thought of blasting this car to absolute smithereens, Oz giggled. Actually, the car was oddly intact. Didn’t Vera toss _two_ hits of dynamite at it? Weird.

 _“Hell yeah!”_ Their hand was outstretched for the dynamite, but as soon as they turned around, Damien’s hands grabbed them by the harness, yanking them upward until they had to stand on the tips of their toes. Oz whined, their form shivered as sharp teeth nipped up and down their neck. Almost— _ah—ow!_ Actually cutting them?

Oz wriggled in the blanket cocoon against the small, sharp pain. _Whhh? What is…?_

Probably the corner of the note digging a papercut into your neck.

_The what?_

Nothing. Go back to sleep.

Damien’s hair rubbed against their cheek, the ashy smell of innumerable arsons filled their senses. Unsure what to do with their hands, their fingers twitched to grab something, eventually finding Damien’s coat but all they could reach was the edge. It wasn’t enough. They weren’t _close_ enough. Their phobias clearly agreed as they all strained to reach for him, too. The Demon’s chest should be _right there._ From the way he held them, Oz should be able to reach out and grab onto his back but somehow he seemed _inexplicably_ far away. They felt more like a toy to be played with in Damien’s hands, and that… wasn’t as nerve-wracking as they expected it to be. If anything, it stirred up a warm vibration under their skin from deep in their chest. Those vibrations, they were from rumblings in their core—that thing other sentient beings termed a ‘heart.’ Why was it doing this again?

As Damien licked at the bites he left he walked forward, forcing Oz to stumble backwards until they hit the side of the car. The car creaked and Oz gasped as they were shoved against it. Those vibrations traveled lower. Flames bellowed high around them, soon reducing Oz’s shirt to ash, but the leather harness remained. Damien dragged his nails along the infinite shadows of Oz’s chest before gripping the straps of the harness again and pinning their slim body between the scorching body of the car and his own.

When the phobia hugging the note like a teddy-bear shifted, slicing the edge of the paper against the pyramid-shaped protrusions that were Oz’s approximations of ears, Dream-Damien’s teeth found their “ear” as well.

The heated metal burned against their back, but they didn’t question why they didn’t feel as much pain as they should from the third degree burns they must've had by now. They were more concerned about the hardening bulge straining against their miraculously uncharred pants. As if on cue, the fires licked their legs. Once the flames caught at the ankles of their pants, they flared up until their pants were cinders in the wind.

All that was left were their cranberry colored briefs.

Oz felt more than they heard Damien’s low, villainous chuckle from deep in his throat. If it wasn’t so hot, they might have noticed their own flustered blush, and they wouldn’t have dared to glance up with sheepish eyes. Because as soon as they met Damien’s eyes the rumbling in their core stuttered. In his eyes they saw it again, that enrapturing moment where one of Damien’s eyes glowed against the night behind him. And there was that cocky, toothy grin again. But his eyes weren’t on Oz’s, they were on their red underwear. Then he asked it, his voice low, and husky,

“Those for me?”

When their core started up again the vibrations dove straight between their legs. Their whole form pulsed in a heaving rhythm. If they weren’t so aroused, so desperate to feel this demon’s hands all over them, that would have been the tip-off for Oz: Damien wasn’t weirded out or grossed out by Oz’s non-Euclidean body. But their hardening cock threatening to tear its way out of their briefs devoured their attention. At least it was, until they saw the stiff bulge in Damien’s dark jeans.

The only thing that could possibly steal Oz’s eyes away now would be the threatening glint of a knife in the fire-glow.

You mean like the one he just pulled out of his jacket?

Yeah, just like that one wait.

Oz’s nerves prickled at the sight of the blade. Oh, not in a bad way. Not at all. In fact, as Damien dragged the smooth, razor sharp edge up their outer thigh to meet the bottom hem of their briefs, that prickling heightened and gave the appearance of static washing over their skin in a wave from the tips of their toes all the way up, up, up through their hair. Their core thrummed in anticipation.

With quick slices, Damien had those cranberry-red briefs in shreds, falling to the dirt between their feet only to soon be eaten up by the fires like the rest of their clothing. Again, Oz had expected Damien’s hands to be careless, to unrestrainedly shred their skin along with the fabric, but his fingers were as dexterous with the knife as they’d been with tightening the harness. And now their cock was free and unrestrained and harder than they’d ever been.

Their jawline stretched downward, as if they had a mouth and it was hanging open. A raspy gasp whispered out into the demon’s mind, only widening that smile to show more teeth. Just as Oz thought to beg for those teeth back on their body, Damien was biting below their chin, down their neck to their shoulder, to their collar bone.

 _Fuck I need it lower. I want your mouth to go lower,_ Oz was sure they moaned that out loud, but their pleas were silent even in their own ears.

All the while his hands groped their way downward, clawing at their chest, their smooth stomach, their waist, finally sliding down to harshly dig into the flesh of their ass.

_Come on, please, your hands are right fucking there!_

Still, their words remained unheard. This teasing was all too star-damned much. And all Oz could do was whimper and whine and scrape their nails into the weakening frame of the car they were pressed against.

A yelp pealed through the air, Oz surprised that the sound came from themself as much as they were by Damien suddenly grabbing them just under their buttocks and lifting them fully off their feet. The car frame creaked again, and a gust of flames bellowed out the window as the demon pinned their hips flush against his own. They were almost stunned from the sudden pressure on their cock, the friction against it from Damien’s jeans. Oz frantically grasped for something to hold on to, feeling slight panic that they would fall back, not against the flaming car but straight down into a flaming pit down to the Earth’s core. But their hands did find purchase, messily entwining around his shoulders wait where were Damien’s pants?

Before the question could project from their mind, the knife was back, only now the handle was coiled in Damien’s tail. It held the knife angled down, ready to strike Oz. The hazy memory of thinking it seemed like a scorpion’s surfaced in the dream, and now that’s what his tail was. But the scorpion tail didn’t attack Oz this time either. It darted down to shred his own black boxers. The wave of prickling nerves shivered up their skin again as they whimpered, stomach flipping at the state they were in—

Under the unyielding beams of the sun’s heat, Oz’s stomach gurgled. The alcohol had interfered with their already unconventional digestive system and that _entire person_ they ate had sat there all night.

—Damien was still in his shirt and coat, but they were both stark naked from the waist down. And all Oz had left was the harness.

A bead of sweat slid down the side of their face in the motel room. Damien licked a stripe up the side of their face in the junkyard. That was as close to a warning Oz got before Damien rammed himself inside the quivering, goopy shadow in one rough thrust. Instead of their asshole, they felt Damien’s literally steaming cock filling their vagina.

Oz still felt their cock between their legs, but now they had… both? Their form was anything but consistent in its shape, however “both” was something they’d never done nor knew if they _could_ do.

But this was a dream, and they didn’t question it, and neither will _you._

The oozing shadows below their nose parted in a horizontal slit to reveal their mouth and an outpouring of moaned curses rattled the realm of dreams.

That’s not hyperbole. People in their middle of their own dreams heard Oz.

If Damien didn’t bother getting them wet and ready for his dick before plunging balls-deep, you can believe he didn’t bother with a slow build up. Oz’s vision was still fuzzy at the edges when Damien started mercilessly thrusting, all-out rutting inside them.

Oz in the bed groaned from the sickening, stagnant heat, trapped by an unbearably sweaty blanket. Oz in Damien’s arms gasped out moans from the abuse on their pussy, dripping ever more as Damien raked them over the coals toward their orgasm right there in his arms. And the only thought Oz could form in their mind was how bad they wanted it!

 _The_ _bastard_ , of course that’s when he pulled out! Their inner walls cried out at the sudden emptiness. A few phobias popped out from their body where it was close enough to reach and beat their pebble-sized fists uselessly against him. Oz whined in protest, for him _not to stop yet._ Without a word Damien lifted them up more securely in his arms, flipped them effortlessly over and slammed their chest into the sizzling hood of the car. Their shriek mixed with the scraping creak of the car’s frame. One of the phobias leered at Damien with _shameless_ bedroom eyes.

Oz watched as their gooey mouth dripped on the hood underneath them, painting a small puddle between their hands, balled into fists that tried to stabilize themself. Moans mixed with the panting that came out of that goopy mouth, and when Damien’s weight crushed down on them from behind, pinning their cock between themself and the rigid, scorching metal, they made no effort to stifle a squeal.

Damien’s breath was hot against their ear. “You’re too fucking loud.”

Before Oz could whine again, one hand reached around to pry Oz’s mouth open while the other held the stick of dynamite. He crammed it between their teeth like a bit-gag and thrusted back in, snickering against Oz’s ear at the pathetic moans trying to escape.

The whole car creaked as he immediately picked back up his earlier pace. Saliva, black and thick as tar but glossier, drained out of their lips around the dynamite, down their face and pooled around their chin where it rested uncomfortably on the hood, digging against it more with each thrust on the car.

In that state of mind where something occurs in a dream, and you notice it happening, but _you_ -you don’t notice it, that’s where Oz was when they realized the car was still on fire. Wouldn’t that light the dynamite? It did so. Oz saw this. Oz even heard the sharp spark and the slowly but surely crawling-closer hiss. _Oz_ -Oz was getting their brains fucked out and did not. The stretch of Damien’s hard length between their drooling folds was depraved bliss.

They were so close.

So fucking close.

The fizzle of the shrinking wick counted down to Oz coming undone beneath the demon.

 _So_ close as Damien’s hips bucked wildly into them, driving his cock fully inside so Oz could feel his balls slapping against them. His nails dug deeper in the flesh of their sides, every lean muscle tensed on top of Oz as **the dynamite exploded in Oz’s mouth.**

Oz jolted in panic, their body blinking into static as it struggled to maintain shape. That static settled down as calming realization settled over their frantic mind: they were awake.

Waves vibrated through Fear Personified’s shadowy form, pulsing from their core, through their chest, out their limbs—and then shivered back up and inward to pulse out again. It was their equivalent to gasping as they gathered themself, body solidifying as they calmed down.

Oz felt like something had just happened, something they’d been doing that got their core racing and every muscle tensed up. But the dream was as much a haze as the end of their inebriated night.

The moment their mind was fully awake, every thought or question was replaced by unrelenting nausea. Their throat down to their stomach shuddered. And then that feeling jumped back up to their throat. Oz’s arm frantically snaked out of the sweltering bundle of blankets they were tangled up in, stretched to the floor and waved along the edge of the bed, praying that a waste bin was nearby. Their hand hit something metal and cylindrical and if their stomach hadn’t just _lurched_ they’d thank the universe for all its mercy.

In place of gratitude, the universe got a torrent of vomit.

The sight of the person’s remains, ground up into a fine paste and made sloppy by the primordial ooze of their insides, black as oil with swirls of cream and red, made blurry through the pained tears clouding their eyes gave them an extra tremor of disgust. But it wasn’t as bad as the gurgling sound as it flushed out their mouth and splattered the insides of the bin. Which wasn’t nearly as bad as the taste, pungent and sour that coated their throat and tongue. None of which were as bad as the smell of stale, festering fears and rancid flesh, foul enough to do them in for another round as their stomach failed to settle itself and heaved again.

Oh. Oh they found something worse. So much worse.

The feeling when lukewarm vomit splashed back up in their face.

The tears of pain were bad enough, now they sobbed in helpless revulsion.

Oz laid in their sweat-drenched blanket until they were sure the slightest movement wouldn’t set them off again. When they could open their eyes, they found it curious that the bin was so conveniently placed on their side of the bed. The faintest memory of Amira telling them she put it there before going to bed herself resurfaced, but then they caught sight of their puke again and squeezed their eyes shut. Eventually their constitution held strong enough for them to wriggle the blankets off themself and ease themself into a sitting position………which is when they saw the thick, moist stain on their boxers. Eyes wide, cheeks clammy, they muttered “please’s” and “tell me I did not’s” as they scrambled through the mess of sheets for their original blanket back.

…

Oz melted.

The puddle formerly known as Oz whined as they slid onto the crusty rug and scooted under the bed.

 _“This is where I live now,”_ the puddle sobbed.

Their…

(I can’t exactly say _‘their head throbbed in pain,’_ now. How the flying fucknuts do I describe a puddle having a hangover???)

The puddle’s… _mind_ throbbed—dehydrated, and starving, and drained from having to process altogether too much liquor. They wouldn’t normally just sink into a filthy, chaffing rug where they were bound to leave a stain if they stayed too long. They’d collapse into a container where their shitstorm of emotions wouldn’t get everywhere. Unfortunately the only container on hand was… occupied. Though, the further their emotions sunk, swimming deep in self-loathing, the more inviting that trash bin looked. They _literally_ just had a wet dream in their friend’s bed and came enough to fill a fucking glass. They were such garbage. Was it really any less than they deserved?

Phobias popped out around the underside of the bed, looking at Fear Personified with concern and confusion. They weren’t sure what to do here, none of them were even fully-fledged fearlings. There was little they could do on their own. The one that had slept with the note had remained on the pillow even when the rest of Fear slid away. It looked curiously at the paper it spooned in its sleep for half the day and unfolded it. Its mouth formed a little ‘O’ of surprise and the phobia quickly wriggled down to unfurl the note in front of Fear Puddleified.

They barely opened their eyes enough to read it.

 

_Hope you’re not feeling like complete garbage when you read this._

_Your phone is dead. If you have your charger on you, text us when you’re up. Unless you sleep until I get back. Which you are completely free to do. I want you to rest as long as you need. You fucking knocked ‘em back with Dames last night. All I ask is try not to run off, or at least let us know where to find you. I’d bet all my money Bri and Vi plan to force their way onto my bus after school’s out. With or without me._

_-Amira_

_P.S. You are no amount of literal garbage, so I better not come home to find you in a trash bin._

 

_“She knows.”_

But her words and the fact that she left this so they wouldn’t wake up alone and confused brought a little bit of calm over them. The embarrassment and jumbled other feelings were still too much to resolidify, but the tears stopped. With their phone dead on the bedside table and their watch next to it, Puddle-Oz couldn’t know for sure how long they stayed under the bed. Their mind drifted into a trance in which they could forget all the constrictions of this dimension’s laws, including the construct of time, but the sun traveled well off the bed by the point they considered the possibility of sliding out and maybe getting to the bathroom to clean up.

A metal jangle followed by the wiggled clatter of a key turning in the lock felt way louder in their mind than it probably was, and they didn’t want to be anywhere _but_ hidden under that bed.

Oz-puddle wasn’t sure why they did it, it wasn’t a sensible move by any stretch, but the racing thought that overtook reason was, _‘they can’t see me like this!’_

Multitudes of phobias congealed into a blotch of multi-faced shadows to slam their combined force against the door just as Amira opened it a crack.

All three jumped back, spitting surprised utterances. All that did was make the three monsters more worried.

“Oz!” Amira’s fist hammered the door. “Hey! You alright in there?”

_"D-don't c-come in..."_

Brian and Vicky stared at the door, not even pretending that panic wasn’t starting to creep on them. Oz in the room cringed, guilt punching them square in their puddle-face as everyone’s fears flooded through them. It made them all at once more powerful and… ashamed.

“Oz open the hell up don’t even think I won’t bust my own door down!”

“The _hell’s_ with the shouting?” came a gruff voice from below. The trio looked over the railing to see Upton, the front-desk demon, carrying three garbage barrels in his four arms, presumably out to the dumpsters down in the nearby alley. Nevermind being unused to seeing two guests per month at most, he clearly wasn’t used to noise like this. At least, not noises this loud until people got _inside_ their rooms.

“My friend’s blocking the door, I—” How to word this so this demon wouldn’t barrel in and attack Oz? “I need to get in.”

Whatever the reason, Upton was _not_ unused to shit like this with his few guests. From his experience and given the ages of these kids, probably a drug-overdose but where was that his business? If there were dead bodies he’d throw them out with the garbage all the same. From the weight of his current load, the other guest who’d left late last night must have left at least three bodies in one barrel.

“Can any of you use magic?”

“Yeah, me.” She was middling at best with spells, but general magic use was well under the jurisdiction of all types of djinn.

He shifted his load so they’d balance and pulled something from his pocket. “Slap this on the door and it’ll fix itself after you break it down.” He flicked it and it sailed like a dart that Amira easily caught. A rolled-up paper with a spell sigil stored on it.

“Thank you!” she called down. All she got as a response was him readjusting the barrels and continuing his duties.

Single-use spells like this could be cast even by people who didn’t know the spell. All they had to do was activate it with their own magic. Amira did as he’d instructed then nodded to Brian, who reared up against the railing and barreled through. The mess of phobias shrieked and scattered into the shadows when their _flawless_ plan failed.

The first thing Brian noticed after they’d parted was four phobias on the bed. They were urgently, albeit futilely, trying to tug one of the blankets over the side of the bed where it couldn’t be seen. He walked around the bed, still not seeing Oz but he knew they were there somewhere and took the blanket out of the phobias’ tiny hands. They angrily grabbed at the air, demanding it back. He wondered what was important to hide, and then Oz’s boxers flopped out onto the floor. There was a pitiful sound from under the bed. Then saw the stains on both.

 _‘Oh.’_ Brian kept the thought quiet. Oz would only feel worse if he made it clear he knew.

Amira and Vickey rushed in as the door’s pieces collected back together and reformed seamlessly.

“Amira, do you have a laundry bag or something?”

 “What? What for?” Her eyes flicked to the blanket. “What did O—?”

She cut herself off when Brian shook his head. Stern eyebrows furrowed over those white irises glinting against their dark, decayed eyeballs. Message received. Whatever happened, there was no need to press the matter. Vicky, having already scanned the room for signs of where Oz was, quickly deduced their most likely hiding place. Watching her start to crouch by the other side of the bed, he quickly bent down to grab the boxers and hide them stuffed in the _really sweaty_ blanket.

They were hidden by the time she had her head halfway under the bed and exclaimed, “Aha!”

While she murmured soft reassurances, Amira pointed to the fabric bag hanging in the open closet and Brian quickly shoved the items into it, hidden from everyone’s view.

“Was last night that bad?” Vicky asked.

 _“No!”_ Oz insisted. _“N-not at all. It w-was crazy and amazing a-and I had so much f-fun.”_ Vicky heard soft sniffles from the puddle.

“Bad hangover?” Vicky gave them a gentle but knowing look.

Somehow, despite being a puddle with nothing but two bobbing sheepish eyes, they managed to convey something akin to a nod of their head.

“How about this for a plan: you come out, you don’t even have to stop being a puddle, but go into the bathroom. When you are ready, reform, take out your charger and then you’ll be right there to clean up while we plug in your phone for you. After that we’ll go find some bitch for you to murder-munch,” she heard Oz giggle at that. “And once you’re feeling better, we have something really fun planned! No _way_ we’re leaving you behind for that!” She giggled quietly. “Does that sound good to you?”

There was hesitation, but they did murmur back, _“O-ok…”_

Oz had seen Brian hide away their underwear. He knew. He had to. That both made them want to explode in a world-destroying catastrophe to hide away from the embarrassment, and… trust him to help them. He’d said nothing so far. He wouldn’t tell. And they were sure they’d need help. If they tried to stand up on their own, they might fall right over—oh shit they were also naked why did Death deny them relief from _the torment of living???_

_“C-can… can you and Amira… n-no, I don’t want to kick Amira out of h-her own room. Can y-you two m-maybe just tu-turn around…?”_

“Oz, if you want a little privacy, I know Amira won’t mind.” On that note, she pulled her head out, and called to them, “Amira and I will wait right outside, so let us know when you’re all set!”

She hadn’t been able to hear their conversation, but Amira didn’t need to be told. She followed Vicky out, only stopping to tell Oz, “I left your clothes in the top shelf of the dresser.”

The two monsters slumped their backs against the wall and slid down to the ground in unison. There wasn’t much to say. At lunch they’d had a good, long talk to clear up all the shit the last couple days had thrown. Vicky still saw Amira dipping in and out, but the Frankenstein’s monster would be more shocked if she _wasn’t_ suffering bouts depression. Thankfully, this little hiccup with Oz didn’t send her mood crashing downward.

The ifrit gave a small laugh. “If I’d known they’d get _puddle_ levels of hungover I would have skipped school again.”

Vicky smiled. “You still haven’t told us about what they did in the heist.”

“’Cause Oz needs to be there for that story! They still haven’t even told me what it was like in that vault— _or_ what Damien was saying to them when he put that fucking thing on them!”

“ _Pleeease_ tell me he took it off them, too,” she snickered.

“Oh no! We still have it! Couldn’t figure out how to fuckin’ unbuckle that thing, Oz literally had to melt out of their clothes.”

On his way back to his post in the check-in office, Upton raised a questioning eyebrow at the two girls sitting outside the door, but at Amira’s thumbs he nodded. Whatever problems were in that room no longer involved him.

Time felt like it stretched on and on, but by the clock on Vicky’s phone it wasn’t terribly long until Brian opened the door and waved them in.

Oz stood fully clothed with the only things out of place being their hair was an absolute mess, their sleeves were unrolled and sagged over their finger-tips, and their sweater was unbuttoned. But it was warm out, they’d probably have to take it off soon anyway.

_“Showering with hand-soap is awful.”_

Amira winced. “Oz, child, no. Don’t tell me you were that desperate.”

 _“I was though,”_ they groaned.

It wasn’t only for the shower they’d been forced to resort to using it. When she’d done the laundry, Amira was only able to get those single-serving size packets of detergent that were available in the laundromat. There was no other soap. Brian even checked the boxes the hinn had brought over as Oz slept. Clearly she wasn’t finished gathering the items Amira requested, but given the distance between her old home and the motel, it wasn’t a surprise. It took some vigorous scrubbing and an improvised spell to get their underpants into wearable shape.

Vicky wrapped her arms over their shoulders and they let their head sag on hers.

_“Do you have that portable charger? My phone only got to ten percent.”_

“Always do! I’ll put your phone in my backpack so we can charge it up on the road.”

\---

Amira and Vicky used a headphone-splitter so they could listen to a video together and have both ears blocked for the morbid crunches of bone and slurping of shredded flesh of Oz’s third person of the night. Brian stuffed his ears in his pocket and held one hand tight around them while he played puzzle-games on his phone with the other. Monstropolis was a city that had alleyways linking points of travel almost more than the streets themselves. The three of them stood with their backs leaned against a wall around a corner, chilling on their phones as Oz polished off the last person not ten feet away. All perfectly hidden from view. As the city’s motto goes, “If it can’t be seen from the main roads, it’s like no crimes ever occurred.”

While they didn’t have time to let Oz do their full-meal thing, which involved filling them up with fear for hours, sometimes days on end before eating them, Amira had insisted they take their time with each meal this time. Doing it “fast-food style” at the arcade yesterday probably contributed to being unable to keep their late-night meal down and their particularly nasty hangover.

The Nerd Squad was well practiced with psychological-torture tactics under the expert tutelage of Fear Itself. Oz always helped with the kidnappings unless they were in a weakened state, as they were now. So Oz picked out the prime candidates while Brian and Amira rounded them up one by one, and Vicky and Oz got to work scaring them _hopefully not literally_ shitless. People shitting their pants in fear was funny, but not when their goal was to eat that person and they would refuse to eat them whole if they did. When one such snack did so, it took all Vicky’s efforts convincing them to get Oz to at _least_ drain the fear from the heart. Not an easily won endeavor against Oz’s insisting that it smelled, this whole dimension’s most popular digestive process smelled, and the meal tied up in the alley?— _he_ smelled— _he’s gross._

(He was also _alive_ during this whole conversation where you talked about ripping his heart from his chest before he keels over because Oz knows it’ll taste awful once he dies.)

Even with that minor hiccup, enjoying a warm, home-horrified meal was exactly what Oz needed to relieve the hangover. There was still a bit of tension in their head, but it would pass.

“Now come ooon, quit jerking me around,” Amira groaned with the biggest grin. “What’s the big surprise you planned? Oz!” She leaned against them shoulder to shoulder. “These _villains_ have been teasing me all day. Won’t even give me one _hint._ ”

The shadowy monster shrugged. “We’ll have to torture them next, then.” They started nodding their head. “For the information, of course.”

Amira’s head bobbed along with them. “I can always count on you to see reason.”

Vicky rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Brian muttered something that sounded like, “Assholes.”

“Oh no. Please. We’ve had enough. By God’s good grace have mercy on poor little me.” Vicky’s tone was flatter than a broken piano key.

“Then tell us what we wanna know, Frankenshit’s monster!” Amira barked.

“You can’t tell anyone I told you, but word on the street is a production of American Idiot is showing in the Synn Theater, and four little dweebs from Spooky High are going to see it tonight.”

Amira’s eyes lit up in a very literal sense. Tiny fires glowed in them as she charged Vicky to pick her up in a spinning hug, screaming into her ear how she was the best.

“I got them last month,” she explained as she was swung around. “I heard about the show after we’d already scheduled the day for your surgery-spell, and it was so close it was like fate smacked me in the face to get us all tickets to celebrate.”

Oz knew the answer to what they were about to ask and looked at her with supremely smug eyes. “How very sweet of you. You bought tickets?”

The cheer in Vicky’s smile radiated warmth and contagious glee. She held up four tickets in her hand. “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9th Day of Christmas Updates! Hope it was a good read for you all. I know those tags promise smut, don’t they? And today was the day I delivered. Happy New Year. ;D  
> We’re still going to be dry a while longer, but we’ll get there when we get there. I won’t lie, this chapter was partially for myself—I can’t make them fuck yet, but dammit I want them to bone already. And would you believe me if I said I 100% intended for this chapter to be void of all the angst that happened?
> 
> QM's Music Pairing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CY0ZjtuHvs


	12. The One Where Nothing Bad Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11th Day of Chriiistmas!  
> Now I know what you're thinking. Technically it's the 12th. But I live by the code that it's not tomorrow until I go to sleep. So it's still day 11, shush your pretty faces! I also want to thank all your pretty faces for reading this far. If you're enjoying my story, please do comment. I honestly would love to hear from you guys, no matter how short or long a message you feel like leaving.
> 
> Quick Reminder, you can follow my Twitter: @MelissaTheDucky for direct updates, also sometimes I say funny things  
> Or my Tumblr by the name QuintessenceMeister if anybody still uses that
> 
> Warning: Minor gore

It honestly was good luck that the tickets were for the American Idiot Musical, of all things, where even with Amira and Oz looking disheveled as they were, nobody batted an eye. Amira had clean clothes to change into, but her familiar wasn’t yet back with her makeup and toiletries. Oz assured her they would stand next to her the whole time, that way it would seem like they both looked like that on purpose.

As the line filed in, there were four monsters who insisted they bought tickets, swearing they’d been victims of identity theft for several months now.

That truly sucked for them and made the Nerd Squad all the more appreciative for the experience. They got to see one of the defining albums of their younger years performed as a play. Most of the monsters in the audience looked roughly their age as well. Almost all were of the generation that grew up listening to these songs for everything from raucous all-night parties to lonely nights of crippling angst. Even though many had gone years since they last listened to them, everyone knew the words. For every quiet scene that silenced the audience as they tried to pretend they weren’t crying, there was a scene that was a loud sing-along, closer to a rock concert than a theater production.

As soon as the lights went up for the intermission, the theater filled with chatter of monsters in love with a play they’d only gotten half way through. Vicky scampered as fast as her legs could carry her to the bathrooms, only having to inject two monsters with tranquilizers to make it before the rush. Amira got up too, but with the intentions of grabbing drinks for everyone.

Oz was about to shout a request at her, but Brian’s hand hopped onto the space below their nose. _“You know this can’t stop me from speaking, right?”_

Brian talked over them.

“Oz is having water.”

“Wasn’t planning on giving them anything else,” she called back.

The embodiment of fear squinted at their ripped-up, undead friend who kept a steady gaze on them.

_“You don’t know what I was going to ask for.”_

Not one muscle of Brian’s face moved.

_“Shut up, Brian.”_

The two monsters locked eyes in a staring match that could have lasted an actual eternity, the theater crumbling and rotting around them as centuries and millennia passed and neither truly needed to blink and could conceivably live forever, however uncomfortable not moving or eating might get. The match could have seen the inevitable heat-death of this universe. It could have. But both of them cracked into choked-back sniggers before a full minute could pass, let alone a full eternity.

Fear’s eyes shifted downward, their shoulders hunched. _“I’m… sorry… I mean, sorry for all the shit I’ve put you guys through lately. Amira’s trying to deal with her family hurting her. And all I’ve done is throw a fit, make you all freak out worrying for me, whine like a little shit when Amira asked me to help with the heist, get stupid drunk, make a mess, and make you all babysit me. She’s having such a hard time, and I keep adding to her problems. I’m such a mess… I just don’t know how to make myself stop.”_

Brian said nothing until he was sure they were finished, listening to the thoughts plaguing their mind. He’d heard them trying to make this apology to Amira earlier, but she’d shushed them the minute “sorry” projected from their mind. The zombie didn’t exude so much confidence that you couldn’t help but believe in yourself like Amira did, and he didn’t have Vicky’s comforting, calming voice with all the right words to say. Brian’s weapon against Oz’s bouts of depression was, and always had been, the simple facts.

“Oz, none of us think like that about you.” He hated to bring it up, but once again, the facts were all he was armed with. “Your father’s visit is a week away. Honestly, Oz, you’ve been getting more and more stressed all month as it’s grown closer.”

The embodiment of fear shrunk into their seat slightly.

“I don’t think you’re taking into account how bad that’s affecting you. On top of that our best friend got disowned for being trans, you got suspended for practically nothing, _and now_ your father’s going to be home for you to explain why you got suspended. It’s a wonder you haven’t spent the last twenty-four _hours_ as puddle.”

A short sputter of Oz’s laugh rang in Brian’s mind.

“As for _putting problems on her_ —you do understand you saved that heist, right? Amira was _at a loss_ for how to get Vera around the FYHYDLB 900. You could have said no. You didn’t have to help her. But you did. She hasn’t done her whole epic-storytelling thing yet, but from everything she’s said so far it sounds like that’s not the only time that night you saved everyone’s necks. That fit you threw? Dude, we all wanted to tear the Rashids’ familiar a new one. The only thing you should be sorry for there is beating me and Vicky to the punch. You think you made a mess in Amira’s room? You should have seen my apartment last night.”

_“Everyone used your room again???”_

Brian groaned. That’d be a yes.

“As for ‘babysitting’ you, dude, that was barely a twenty-minute detour and _you’ve_ helped us through hangovers hundreds of times. TLDNR: Amira’s not upset with you for one damn thing and neither are me and Vicky.”

Oz eyes were glossy, their head tilted back trying to hold the tears in. The smallest, teasing tone chimed from Oz’s mind. _“Vicky and I.”_

“Take your Grammar-Nazi bullshit and stuff it up your infinite ass, **_Oz._** ”

 

Vicky was almost giddy at the ease with which she made it in and out of the bathroom. The three harpies who’d tried to shove past her were as giddy as anyone _could_ be after taking a few jabs from her patented “Uber-Taser.” She turned out the door to snake her way through the crowd that had piled up, when she saw a familiar face exit the men’s room at the same time she exited the ladies’ room.

“Oh hey! Liam! You’re here too?”

Wide-eyed, the vampire froze, fingers tight on the hood he’d just started to flip over his head. He knew what a moronic trope it was to reference, but he stood as still as someone hoping the t-rex wouldn’t see him.

She hummed curiously. “I would have thought this play was too ‘mainstream’ for your interests.”

“Ugh, it _is,_ ” he scoffed. The crowd jostled the two of them, forcing them away from the restrooms, but they were able to continue the conversation. “I’ve been forced to attend as a _guest._ That’s _it._ ” On the fly, he mentally prepared an extensive, yet superbly worded explanation for his being there, you know, for when she doubtlessly launched into the taunts he always got when caught. Well, taunts for that, or the juvenile, homophobic taunts for attending a play at all. Not one word of it was prepared for what she actually said.

“Ah. I see then. Even so, how are you liking the performance? Or are you so reluctant you’re trying to ignore it?”

“Naturally I’m watching it. One can hardly expect their critiques to be taken seriously when that haven’t earnestly consumed the content they claim to have authority to review.” He could hear it now, the snide remarks about how he wouldn’t be watching if he didn’t actually want to be here. Such a plebian outlook—

“I couldn’t agree more.”

For the first time since being caught, he turned his head to look at her directly.

“Personally, I am _thoroughly_ enjoying the show.” She winced lightly and tilted her head to the side. “However, I can’t say all the actors are up to par. I wish I’d gotten the chance to see the Broadway cast.”

 “Hey, there you are!” Amira walked up behind them, carrying four drinks. Vicky quickly took two from her. “Sup, Liam?” Her eyes flicked between the two monsters when he didn’t answer.

“Oh, we were just discussing the play.” She looked to the vampire. “If you like, we can continue in Calligraphy and Murder. I’d love to hear your opinions once we’ve seen it to the end.” 

“I suppose it would be refreshing to hear a viewpoint from someone not wearing their nostalgia-goggled so tight as to impede the blood flow to their head.”

“Well I can’t guarantee that,” her eyes flicked a daring glance, “but you can certainly try to pry them off me.”

“I assure you I can,” he huffed.

All three pairs of eyes glanced up as the lights dimmed, the signal for everyone to return to their seats.

Before they walked away, Liam said, “Oh, Amira, I forgot to mention.”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s not too rude of me to comment, I applaud your bravery in undergoing your sex-reassignment surgery. It’s not a requirement for everyone’s transition, but if you needed this to complete yours, then I’m glad you were able to do so. You should be proud you made it this far.”

“Wait, you noticed?”

“ _Of course I did._ You’d have to be the kind of moron able to be tricked into thinking there was a ghost by someone wearing a sheet with two eyeholes cut into it _not_ to notice.”

(I’m not confident that everyone at that school _has_ noticed yet.)

“Well, thank you. Really, that does mean a lot. No part of this has been easy, it helps hearing there are people who _don’t_ think I’m ruining my life.”

“If you _have_ heard anyone telling you that, then I’m sincerely sorry.” Liam looked repulsed by the thought of such bigotry. Loser or not, and, well, with recent developments regarding her status in Vera’s employ, that was now up for serious debate—never the less, nobody deserved to face that kind of hatred.

They deserved to feel hatred for their poor wardrobe choices. Whether that wardrobe leaned toward masculine, effeminate, or otherwise. All could be worthy of mockery— _equally._ “Also, I appreciate your decision to forgo conventional makeup and elegantly neglect your hair. It’s a bold artistic choice.”

“Right. Artistic choice. I knew you’d be the only one to notice.” She winked as Vicky pinched her lips together to hold back a laugh.

“See you in class, then,” Vicky chimed.

He nodded as they hurried to get back to their seats to watch this banefully mediocre play.

Liam squinted as the girls descended the steps. Not with any hint of malice, it was simply the only expression he could don to cover up how confused he was by the exchange. Vicky. The squeaky-voiced jolt-junkie who beamed so much sunshine it should be able to ignite his flesh from her gaze alone. Was that seriously who’d engaged him in an earnest, nearly intelligent conversation? She excelled in her grades, but he’d met plenty who achieved straight-A’s in his time whose intelligence and sense of taste couldn’t fill a thimble. No, she couldn’t be anything more that. Nobody in their entire cursed school was.

Then again, he was a strong proponent of being a multi-faceted individual, not some one-trick pony with a narrow range of interests and hobbies. The ones who feigned depth by latching onto one piece of overrated classical literature and held it up as “their favorite” were the worst. He supposed he should return to his seat to watch the rest of the play. Whether he discovered more than two dimensions in this Frankenstein’s monster, or this calm side to be a one-time fluke, Liam de God-Damn Lioncourt did not enter a debate on an artistic performance unprepared.

When he finally made it back to his seat in the uppermost balcony hidden well by shadows Damien hissed in a hushed tone,

“Where the fuck _were_ you? It’s about to start!”

Liam scoffed. “What a tragedy that would have been.”

“I know, you’re gonna miss it! Now SHH!”

“I can’t believe you enjoy this trite excuse for music.”

Damien’s blush was hidden by his hood and the dim lighting. The tip of his tail curled inward, hiding itself between his leg and the seat.

“I fucking _don’t._ I’m… I’m here to… see… how bad these douche-canoes fuck up the songs! Now. SHH!”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you’ve sat enwrapped through the entirety of this sorry excuse for a performance.”

“ _SHHHHHH!_ ”

\---

“No shit! _There I was…_ ” Amira sat at the end of their table, arms up, fingers slightly curled as if she needed to grab their attention with anything but her words. The only place she would look more perfect was in a chair by a roaring fireplace surrounded by a group of kids, leaning in with eager ears to hear the story. These three nerds around the table at their favorite restaurant were all she needed in the world.

She recounted their adventure, not leaving out a single detail and embellishing plenty.

“You’re trying to tell us Vera convinced everyone to dance the macarena while Damien and Oz stole all their wallets?”

“I am indeed, Brian.”

The zombie looked to Oz for a reality check.

 _“That is exactly how it happened. They danced like their lives depended on it. It was a spectacular performance, really.”_ Not one note of their tone was sarcastic.

Brian rolled his eyes as Vicky urged her to keep going.

Amira picked up at the part where she and Damien melted the door to where Oz cleared the vault.

“And then _this_ little bamf comes out, oh you should have seen Vera’s face when Oz did not have a _single_ monster buck in their hands!”

The two sneered with knowing laughs. Had they been there, they would have known where it all was.

When she got to the part where Damien came back to throw the game into nightmare-mode Brian’s eye twitched and Vicky slammed her head into the table.

“Tell me he did nooot but he wooould oh he diiid, didn’t he?”

“Friggin asshole,” he grumbled.

Amira continued on. The two monsters teetered on their seats, almost sliding off the edge when she got to the part about the blockade.

“Damien _launched_ us up Oz’s ramp, _over_ the cops, and we were home fucking free! You know, after Vera blew up the ones who tried to chase us with a rocket launcher, of course.”

“Rocket launcher?” Brian snickered quizzically.

Vicky’s cheer pealed through the restaurant as she flung her arms around Oz’s neck. They allowed their eyes to glow with pride as they reached across the table to accept Brian’s high-five.

“OOOOOOZ! You were so BRAVE! I told you you had a little rebel in you!”

“You have never told them that,” Brian’s monotone informed her.

“Well I think it all the time. So,” she giggled as she released them, “how did you end up _sooo_ so drunk?”

Oz groaned as they slumped down in their seat, embarrassed but the smile was still in their eyes.

“I blame the beer you had before slamming a whole liter of whiskey. Beer before liquor, my dear,” Amira sighed as she shook her head.

Oz squinted at the smile she was hiding poorly.

They all decided it was a night where they treated themselves to dessert. After such a successful heist, Amira covered the check for them easily. Of course, when she started to raise the subject of paying them back already, all three snapped at her that none of them would accept a single bill from the heist-money. That was for her to make sure she could keep the room and for the necessities while she got herself back on her feet.

\---

It was decided the best course of action was to have a sleepover in Amira’s room. There was an REI on the south side of town where they were still affected by the black-out. Surprisingly it was one of the few stores that hadn’t been looted yet, so they got the honors of busting the windows first. With a fully-stocked, unguarded store, they had their pick of the lot. There was only so much that was useful to Amira in that store, being mostly sports and outdoors equipment. But everyone got to pick their own sleeping bag she could keep in her closet for them whenever they wanted, and there were plenty of warm socks. The real treat was, being the first to hit the store, it meant the cash drawers hadn’t been touched yet. What’s better than stolen money? _More_ stolen money, that’s what.

Brian pushed the cart they’d also stolen. Their next stop was the nearby pharmacy. That had long-since been broken into, but people seemed most interested in clearing out the behind-the-counter drugs, so there were still toiletries left over. The grocery store was a bit less of a success. The refrigerators and freezers had long since warmed up, leaving little that didn’t come with a risk. Much of what didn’t need refrigeration had been taken already. Amira was about to give up and just grab a few canned goods, when Vicky stepped in.

“Oh no. No, no. Junk food is wonderful, but your room has a kitchenette and you will be using it to cook healthy meals.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t even have any pots or pans. I checked.” Amira wasn’t about to complain about having a place to stay, but the motel was clearly made to look legitimate, not be legitimate. No shit, it was a front for a drug front.

“We’ll start with that then.”

Somehow Vicky managed to direct them through the store for another cart worth of goods, so Amira could have healthy meals. She’d still need to find fresh food elsewhere, but they got all the basic cooking staples, spices, a case of water bottles, and other ingredients the rest of them would have skipped over.

Oz and Brian still snuck a few instant ramens into the cart when they thought Vicky wasn’t looking. She had nothing against it on the occasion, but Vicky knew if she’d left them to their own devices they’d come back to her with a cart of nothing _but_ energy drinks and ramen. Their last stop was at a clothing store for pajamas. At first they were going to just hit up a cheap place, and then laughed at themselves for being so silly. This was a robbery. When you’re paying with nobody’s money, you deserve the best.

The carts had just enough room for Oz and Vicky to sit in with their stuff while Brian and Amira pushed them, respectively. It almost turned into a cart-race until Vicky pointed out they didn’t want their “purchases” to go flying.

“But it’s crazy, right?” Amira had been talking about the blackout. “Took out the whole power station.”

“And isn’t the KGB too busy giving other humans radiation poisoning with teacups?” Oz snorted. “What did the KGB even get out of targeting Monstropolis, anyway?”

Vicky sputtered, quickly covering her mouth with both hands, making the ifrit and Fear Personified turn to her. When she avoided their eyes, they looked to Brian. To his credit, his stoic face held out as long as it could.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“So Operation: IRL Blue-Screen of Death didn’t function as expected.”

Oz’s form shook so hard with laughter they melted out of the cart, rolling out onto the sidewalk and beating the pavement with their fist. Amira fell on her knees, one hand on the cart, one on her stomach.

The two were still laughing as they rolled out the sleeping bags. Vicky had to wave her hand angrily at them to shut the hell up while she spoke to her mom on the phone, letting her know she’d be staying with friends for the night. She left out the part about it being at a drug-front motel.

She wore a pale blue, light, but soft nightgown that dared demand customers $87 for it. Brian had found a nice set with a solid green shirt and green and white plaid pants that he could have found at Target for $20 even if this store insisted on nearly $100. Amira had gone straight for silk pajamas, red shorts and a spaghetti-strap top whose cost she didn’t even dare tell her friends. And Oz had found a light, similarly obscenely-expensive hoodie and yellow shorts with orange stripes.

Amira was disheartened to discover the TV was little more than a glorified monitor from the 90’s. But when Vicky was off the phone she assured her it was still in good shape and she could “do something with it.”

“As long as that something doesn’t knock out the power on the north side of the city as well.”

Oz snorted as the fell onto their back for another round of laughter. Brian and Vicky shot them unamused looks.

They ended the night crammed on the bed watching trashy human horror movies on Brian’s laptop.

\---

“Ok, so I have clothes, I have makeup, I have cooking supplies, but I need food…” Amira read off the list she and Vicky had prepared. The squad had just arrived in the mall with a wad of cash from the heist. Amira went over some of the items she could wait on to see if there was any left in the still-dark south side, but looting was most safely done at night. And sadly, sometimes, you had to pay money to get things. Shocking concept. “ _Oz_ needs some extra clothes…”

“Yes please,” they groaned. It was 10AM but as far as their body was concerned, this was early, and therefor unacceptable to be awake.

“Especially because you have work this evening.”

Oz groaned again.

“Aaaand I need to have a chat about setting up a new phone plan.”

“That could take a while. We should get it out of the way first,” Brian suggested.

Their stop at the phone store did, indeed, take a very long time. Despite Amira’s insistence that they did not all need to wait with her through the whole thing, they refused to leave. Brian and Vicky in particular were equipped with a better understanding of everything technological—also, they’d both had to put up with this shit before—and wanted to make sure Amira wasn’t sold anything she didn’t want or need. It was decided that, because Oz was paying for their cell phone service out of their own pocket already, they could get a two-line plan for the both of them and split the bill.

By the time they made it out, it was almost noon and, everyone agreed, time for lunch. The good part for Brian and Oz was the mall was intentionally built over tunnels dug to connect with other human cities. Humans were kidnapped and dragged through the tunnels all the time, enough to fill a zoo. In fact, the sign over the mall entrance for the “restaurant” down in the lower levels said, “Zoo.” Oz didn’t specifically need their food to be human, but it was convenient. Brian _did_ need human brains. So the group agreed on a spot to meet back up while the two monsters with special dietary requirements walked into Zoo. Since Brian only needed the brains while Oz was good with the rest, they were able to save a little money by only buying one meal. The tunnels of Zoo were lined with brick and lit with wall-mounted torches, for that authentic, good old-fashioned human-hunting-in-the-dark feel. The floors were a gravel pathway to enhance the acoustics of people’s footsteps… mostly in case anyone tried to escape.

They were welcomed into Zoo by an orange-skinned demon. “Any special requests?”

 _“Got any that are_ particularly _frightened?”_

She snorted a laugh as she eyed the shadowy kid. “I like your style, shortie. Yeah. I got a guy. I’ll bring him in there.” She thumbed over her shoulder to a doorless room “Can one of our servers get either of you drinks? Blood? Cerebro Cola?”

“I’ll take a Cola.”

“I’m all set.” Oz could already feel the fear saturating the walls. That was more than enough of a drink for them.

“We’ll get your meal right out to you folks.”

The room was more of an alcove, but it provided a little privacy. A Cerebro Cola was brought in for Brian. They kindly provided a paper straw, having noticed the decaying tear in his cheek. It was only a minute more till they heard struggling feet kicking at the gravel and muffled screams. The kicking sounds grew closer though, so clearly he was failing.

Brian didn’t particularly care for the mental state of his meals, brains were brains. Oz, however, thrummed with such hunger, such anticipation, it was audible. The zombie was glad his friend was eating a little more consistently. Their feeding times had gotten a little more sporadic with their growing anxiety.

When their hostess and chef returned, food tightly in hand, she was growling vicious threats to deepen his panic. Their meal screamed into his gag.

“Got‘m good and riled up for ya. You kids enjoy!” She shoved him hard between the shoulders, sending him flat on his stomach, clattering in the gravel, and left them alone. He shook and gasped on the loose, maddeningly noisy pebbles.

 _“Got the wind knocked out of you? Hm?”_ A hollow chime of laughter warbled through any minds near enough. _“OhHHhh hOw BAdLy yOu WAnTed To RUn. NNoW yOu cAn’T EvEn BreAtHE.”_

He finally raised his head to the two young monsters.

Shadows crept from the yellow-clad, mouthless figure. The green, scarred, partially decayed boy raised an eyebrow at the figure who was at the same time hazy and hard to make out, yet definitely, _undeniably_ right there filling the man’s field of vision.

_“yOU wOn’t BeLIeVe tHiS, He’S acTuAllY tEEeRriFiED oF zoMbIFiCatIoN. HiS veRy… WOrSt… fEaR…”_

A low, airy sound came mostly out the hole in the side of the zombie’s mouth. His shoulders shook. He was _laughing._ These _kids_ were laughing?!

 _“I seE… I sEe nOw. tHE fEaR Of BeiNg TrAPpEd, mInD FoRevEr LOsT to YoU. WiTHiN yoUr OWn BodY, eTErNal AnD **UsEleSs**.”_ The shadowy haze’s head, if it had a head, seemed to shake slowly, side to side. The zombie slurped his soda. _“wAIt UntIlL YoU SeE whAt YoU’Re In fOr WItH me.”_

The zombie turned his back, walking to the corner and could be heard still noisily drinking from the can. In the shadows he swore he saw… himself… decaying and slack-jawed, stumbling around unable to decide his own actions, but in the mirage’s eyes he could see he was still conscious in there. Conscious… and helpless.

A pathetic croak came out of his throat through the gag as tears spilled out.

Oh that was fucking _it._

Brian had his earbuds in long before the screams started up. An engorged phobia tapped him on the shoulder when Oz was done. “Dude, have you seen the new SNUD?”

(Saturday Night Undead, of course.)

_“Not yet… no… Here.”_

The man’s head rolled over to his feet as hit put his headphones away. There was a table along one of the walls, for those who wanted their meals presented with a little more class. But that was more expensive, and Brian didn’t care much for “class.” He just needed a surface to crack the skull open on. Brian passed his phone to Oz so they could watch the skit while he tucked into the fresh brains. Needless to say, as the pair paid the check they were all too happy to give a generous tip. She’d really gone above and beyond with excellent service.

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent shopping through that list of necessities, some items being allocated to the “for later” list. When it came time for clothes shopping, all three monsters rolled their eyes as Oz gravitated towards a rack with a comfy yellow sweater. They shrunk down, feeling _very_ called out.

…

This did not stop them from purchasing the sweater.

 

Even though Oz’s shift was in the evening hours, that didn’t bring them even close to the bookstore’s closing hours. So the gang was able to hang around, exploit Oz’s employee discount for snacks, a few books, get Amira another new sketchpad. Also harass said employee with inane questions and making them help them all find books.

What? It was all part of customer service and their boss couldn’t tell them it wasn’t.

They were also really glad they had no mouth to smile with and give away the joke.

 

No matter how badly they wanted the day not to end, Vicky’s mom wouldn’t hear one word proposing she sleep over a second night in a row. Brian checked in at home, and when there were no new catastrophes with his siblings to worry about he was in for one more night. Everyone squeezed Vicky between them to hug her goodbye as her mom pulled up to the curb. Because they had two friends that required more than one meal a day, Oz forced Amira and Brian to accept payment for dinner.

 _“This—”_ One of the phobias withdrew some money from within their chest, _“—is part of_ my _cut. And_ I’m _paying.”_ They had made sure to grab a wad of cash out of the duffle before leaving the motel.

Oz even ordered a small plate for themself. Which, again, this version of “eating” was just putting food directly into their face where a mouth would be.

Each one of them had nothing but a wonderful day. But it had been a long one. Even Amira was running out of steam. Dinner was spent mostly in silence, but it was the kind where they all cooled down and were happy to have each other as company.

“I know it’s the last thing you’re worried about, but did your familiar grab any movies from home?”

Amira sighed. “No. Apparently she tried, but they all counted as ‘theirs,’ as in ‘the Rashids,’ as in ‘not god damn mine.’”

Brian winced. “Sorry to bring it up.”

She shook her head. “Nah. It’s fine. I was about to say we should go buy a movie or two anyway. Cause I want at _least_ a movie or two.” The part of that sentence she left out was, ‘for when you all have to go home and I’m stuck sobbing alone in my motel room.’

Brian scrolled through an app on their phone. “You’re not going to believe this, but according to Loot Crate there’s an electronics store that _isn’t_ wiped clean. They want twenty fucking monster bucks for the address.” Between the heists and selling off terrorist-attacks to foreign agencies, twenty was pocket change.

(Loot Crate: an app that notifies you which businesses have been picked clean during a crisis, and which ones are still worth digging through for hidden, _free_ gems.)

 

The shop wasn’t much of a gold-mine, the listing hadn’t been entirely honest on how much inventory was left, but it served them well. They nabbed a Blu-ray player, a better TV—that Oz had to carry in their chest—and a good handful of movies. After which, they revisited Amira’s list of things she wanted to see if they could loot instead of having to buy. The trio didn’t make out with the same horde as the previous night, but it was a pretty short list and there was no need for too much right now. All the same, they got her most of what she needed, leaving only fresh food and a couple other things that wouldn’t be too expensive.

 

Amira spent the rest of the night nestled in the brand-new sheets, blankets, and pillows they’d bought at the insistence of a text from Vera. She’d received it a few hours after messaging her Boss that she had her phone all set up again. Specifically it read,

 

Vera:: Good to hear.

Vera:: Because scratch my earlier statement.

Vera:: I’m not confident any amount of washing will sanitize the bedding.

Vera:: If you entirely redecorate that room, no one will care. You have my express permission if Upton asks.

Vera:: Just make sure nothing’s visible in the window. That business is supposed to look shady and unused. How else are people supposed to believe it’s a drug front?

 

The first thing Amira had done after receiving the texts was update her list of necessities. Brian even suggested stealing a new mattress next time if the power was still out.

In all fairness, it was a safe assumption that it would be. The power station had _exploded,_ after all.

More importantly, on either side of her in the bed watching her favorite movie were Brian and Oz. Brian who had taken all the time setting up the new TV and player, and Oz who helped her throw out the old bedding and towels and replace them with the new ones. The two didn’t even remember to go sleep in their own sleeping bags until later in the night when Brian woke up to see the menu screen on the TV, probably playing for the hundredth time. He nudged Oz into a charade of “awake,” but it was enough to get them to slide their goopy body into the yellow sleeping bag. He made sure everything was turned off and got into his own green one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress enough how much it means to me that anyone is sticking with me for this long-ass work o' mine. That's part of why I decided to do this Christmas-Special Update Marathon, thing. The other part was to challenge myself. If you don't want to listen to me getting personal for a bit, that's cool. Scroll on.
> 
> That being said, I'm gonna get personal here. I suffer depression, probably more than I admit to myself. I certainly don't take care of it as well as I ought to. One result of me hitting a pretty bad wall of it was--I honestly used to write like a beast. Whether it was good or not is up for debate, but I loved the stories I made and I loved writing them. Hell I ended up throwing myself into pursuing it as a career path. But that wall I hit was over three years ago, during which time I've written nothing. Honestly nothing. I can't say what changed, or why it was specifically this fucking game, or THIS FUCKING SHIP (damienxoz) that got me diving back into writing, but it did. And here I am: writing more of a single story than I ever have in my life. And I don't want to admit how long that life is. (I remember well, and participated heavily in Fanfiction(dot)net, let's leave it at that!)  
> That brings me to the other reason I did this intensive every-other-day update schedule: to prove to myself that I could. That I CAN do this whole "writing" thing and that it is my passion. I've spent over three years thinking I fucked up royally by pursuing it because I have not made any "real world" progress in what college painted being a "professional writer" was supposed to look like.  
> The end of this Christmas-Update Marathon references the American Idiot Musical, accidentally for a reason. I really did grow up with that Green Day album as THE defining album of my coming-of-age era. And when I was in college, a production of it played in the theater down town and my college had a deal to get students cheap tickets. I was making plans to go see it only to realize so was EVERYONE else, and that was an amazing feeling! (I came from a hometown that decided everything I liked was automatically SHIT. Mob-Mentality-Bullying is stupid is all you need to know about that.) And when we went, and the theater was almost 100% full of people who also grew up with that music defining something, some experience for them. I don't know what the hell did it but I hated everything between me of that point and childhood-me, just every part of that period felt fragmented and disjointed, just a bunch of sharp pieces that sucked and added up to nothing, and seeing American Idiot fully realized as a full story, as a play, for whatever reason connected point A to point B, and it still hurt and sucked, but it added up to something. Still not sure what, but it's something. I'm going through another point of reconnecting and not hating my past so much through writing this. It's not easy telling yourself "it wasn't all worth nothing" sometimes.  
> This was as much a gift to you all as it was to myself. Thanks for enjoying it with me. And whether you've commented on every chapter, or haven't even clicked that kudos-button, I love you for it.
> 
> That being said I'm not fucking doing an update schedule this intensive ever again, and if I do it'll be because I prepared ALL chapters for it AHEAD of time. (Famous last words.)  
> QM's Music Pairing:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VyV54YwPAkk&list=PLhkWe_r3g_rUh1LmAyTwkXToOIUnQXRDN  
> and  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEtNpAXQ3xg&list=PL8C8ECC4A3EB5BBA6


	13. Fuckin' Neeerds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Liam's comments do not reflect the author's beliefs. Said author hopes those who strongly disagree with him don't take his hipster-shit-talking to heart because he *is* a shit-talkin' hipster and American Idiot was wonderful and it hurt them to write his dialogue for most of this chapter.

Amira slumped into one of the seats of the amphitheater. No one was here yet, and she and Vicky were especially tired, so they came out of their hiding spot in the light fixtures to relax. Vicky set her phone on her knee, relaying the text Brian sent to let them know his bus was running late.

“So how much fun did you guys have without me?” she pouted.

Amira managed a tired smile. “Oh, the party really got going as soon as your mom drove off and that magic titan-sized dragon burst from under the mall, destroyed the city, and I ruined the day by turning its attention on the nearest human cities. Oz feasted on the survivors, and the three of our names went down in infamy.”

Vicky gasped. “How could you leave me out of such a crucial event in history? I thought we were _friends!_ ”

Amira snorted, rolling her eyes, as her little blue friend threw an arm over her eyes, heaved a dramatic sigh, and leaned against the ifrit as much as she could with the armrest in the way. She shoved Vicky off with her shoulder.

“Nah, we were all pretty wiped out when we got up Sunday. Mostly we did school work and made sure Oz is up to speed on as much homework as possible.”

Vicky nodded. “I’m guessing they don’t plan to go home until their father summons them?”

“Yeah. All their classwork is getting mailed to their house, but we can still go through the work together and they can fill it in on the worksheets later.”

“Right. Well that’s good of you. I was planning on doing the same with them for the classes we have together.”

“You hanging out today? Right—no, it’s Monday.”

“Yeeep. Family night,” Vicky said before giving an apologetic look. “Mom wants to make something special, so I have to go straight home today.”

Her hair puffed out a flare as she groaned. “And Brian’s got his house meeting after school today.”

Vicky winced. “Did he tell you about—”

“His drums, yeah. Oh man, I don’t think you know how long he spent on that paint job. Like, he kept coming to me for advice on it for weeks. I feel so fucking bad for him.”

“He was so devastated. I wanted to tell him they still look really good and I could tell put _so_ much effort in, but I doubt he’s in the mood yet.”

The ifrit nodded. Regardless of the clock being perfectly accurate, the first bell felt like it rang way too soon. Amira checked her buzzing phone.

“Brian’s bus _just_ pulled up.”

“Hope he makes it to class. See you at lunch?”

“You know it.”

\---

Sitting at a table in one of the art rooms for Calligraphy and Murder, Vicky wondered if Liam still intended to take her up on her offer to discuss the play. She hoped so, but this was the middle of school, and she hadn’t been blind to his reluctance to acknowledge he’d been watching the play…… _as_ they were all watching the play. Maybe he’d get to class and decide he didn’t want to do so here. She was digging out her notebook for this class when Liam’s thermos, handmade out of upcycled camera lens parts, tapped down on the table next to her things. Then Liam sat down in the seat beside her.

“Morning, Liam,” she hummed.

“Good morning, Victoria.”

Everyone’s attention was called by the teacher to begin the class. Aside from being two of the rare few students who earnestly liked to pay attention in school, they both had chosen this elective out of genuine interest, not just for the easy-A. However, this was also a class where the teacher had no problem letting the students talk among each other during practice-time, so long as they listened quietly while she went over the exercise for the day. There was always that one student who wouldn’t keep their mouth shut until that time and had to work on their project at the individual desk up front near the teacher’s. Vicky and Liam, however, understood the concept of “patience,” and got to finally have that talk while they worked.

As she took some practice pen-strokes she asked, “Did you manage to sit through the whole show, or was it too dull? Or maybe the mainstream appeal too ghastly for your tastes?” Vicky was half-teasing, but with no ill-intent.

“As if I would be so juvenile as to storm out of a theater simply for being boring.”

Liam, too, was warming up before diving into the exercise. Other students, the ones less interested in perfecting the craft or the true savants of the class, got right into it, filling the room with pitiful cries and death-rattles of the victims. There wasn’t enough in the school budget for one victim per student, so each table had to share. Thankfully, the other student sitting across from Vicky and Liam was one who at least took the class a little seriously and was practicing first as well. It was always such a pain when one classmate jumped to kill the victim before asking the table if everyone was ready.

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Though, I will admit seeing such unironic, wide-spread acclaim for a sub-par production did almost have me out of my seat in revulsion.”

“I take it your review will mostly be negative, then?”

“To say the least.”

“You can’t find one good aspect in its favor?”

The vampire scoffed, “Why? Because a crowd of cheering, singing morons found it enjoyable that means there has to be something good about it?”

Vicky chose not to take that personally.

“No, not for that reason. Did you _see_ BvS? Somehow I sat in the one theater that gave that _crime_ of a film a standing ovation.” Vicky scowled at the memory. She did not mean it was the fun kind of crime. “I meant it as a…” she tapped her pen on the pad to coax out the right word, “…a creative _challenge_ for you to find something. I do the opposite with the shows I love—I find something awful about it. Even if I’d defend the love of it to my last breath, what’s the argument against my opinion?”

Liam’s hand stilled, his eyes stopped on her. “That’s… an interesting mental exercise,” he mused.

But as he pondered, the ink from his pen spread into a dark splotch. The other student at their table cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, are you guys ready to…?”

They both looked up. The golem across from them looked nervously from Liam to Vicky, clearly having spent the last of his nerves to dare interrupting a conversation between two monsters of intimidating reputations.

“Oh! Sorry! Didn’t mean to hold you up. Yes, I’m ready. Liam?”

“I believe I’ve warmed up enough. Shall we?” He gestured to the immobilized but very much awake human, wide-eyed and clammy, staring at them on the table. It took a couple minutes, when the golem tried to just stab the victim and Liam asked him just what the hell he thought he was doing. Plain-old stabbing wasn’t artful enough. It then took a couple _more_ minutes of him explaining the art of the murder was as necessary as the art of calligraphy if they all expected any degree of authenticity in their finished work. All the while, the golem cowered across the table, desperately trying to listen but also not really understanding and throwing questioning glances at the other tables _who just stabbed their guy._ Thankfully he was saved by Vicky, who offered to just let Liam do the murdering to properly demonstrate.

“ _Gladly,_ ” he sneered at the golem, taking the knife from him.

To his credit, Liam’s artful murder of the victim was a spectacle to behold. Honestly, just by being at the same table the golem and Frankenstein’s monster felt a surge of creativity. If such things could be measured in quantifiable amounts, they’d dare say they each gained +4 of it. As they went on to practice their calligraphy, all three produced much better works than they even expected of themselves.

The whole time Liam spent murdering the victim with grace and precision, his mind mulled over Vicky’s suggestion. It certainly had merit, as by seriously considering the points someone might make against his arguments, he could better defend them. Though, perhaps more importantly, Liam abhorred close-mindedness. The vampire was old enough, he’d gone through periods of his life where he was certain he held all the answers, only to one day realize how narrow he’d let his views become.

After getting down a few letters, Liam said, “I suppose if I had to pick something, I’d say—no their singing was all over the place. The make up was—ugh, I can’t even defend that, it was _garish._ ”

Vicky smiled gently. It felt nice to see him putting every effort into attempting her little challenge, especially when he didn’t really have to. “How about I start? Maybe I can find a positive quality we can both agree on.”

He masked it well, but Liam was clearly relieved at her offer.

“Please, by all means do. I’d be more interested to see if you _can._ ”

For every point she raised, he raised a counterpoint. But, for once, he didn’t debate her with scorn or outright attempt to devalue her opinions. Mostly.

“Oh please,” he snorted. “The songs were childish and inane enough when the album was first release. But the arrangements for the musical were watered-down, lazy versions for easily-amused simpletons.”

He looked over at her to see a crease in her brow and a subtle note of disapproval in her eyes. She composed herself well, but… well, could he really blame her for taking slight offense to his words?

It was one thing to demean and judge the ignorant, plebian masses—they would have engaged him in this discussion with nothing but “it was fun!” or “it got me nostalgic so it’s automatically the best,” and “nope, nothing wrong here, it was flawless.” But Vicky had done none of that. Here she was, taking into consideration everything he said even that which she steadfastly disagreed upon. She admitted to having nostalgic love for it, but was open to all his critiques, even offering her own. She defended her own positions in favor of the show with thoughtful points and obviously well-studied notes on the background and history of it. All the while she never resorted to words meant to belittle him.

“Victoria, I apologize. My insult to your intelligence was entirely uncalled for.” He paused a moment, thinking of how to word his statement better. “What I should have said was, the arrangements sounded so… ‘safe.’ They were very easy, practically musical-theater-hallmark.”

“I can see why a few of the songs came off that way.” She paused her pen-strokes. “And thank you, I appreciate the apology.”

Liam nodded. He was about to prompt her into moving on to her next point, when the bell to end the period rang.

“Alright class, hand in your work before you leave.”

They collected their bags and got up together.

“You sounded like you were barely half finished. Do you want to continue in our next class?” Liam asked.

Vicky beamed. “Of course! I don’t think we have next period together, though.”

“Whichever we have next, then.”

“Good, maybe it’ll give you enough time to think of _one_ positive aspect.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the vampire that sighed.

“Unless that’s the very last class of the day, I make no promises.”

Vicky smirked. “Well, I’ve issued your challenge. It’s up to you if you want to give up.”

Her curls swished behind her as she spun on her heel, leaving him stunned in the doorway, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in attitude. He did think of a response, but too late. She was several yards down the hall, and for her to hear him he would have to shout. No amount of public embarrassment was worth a sloppy, delayed comeback. He headed for his next class, resolved to succeed in her challenge.

 

The two of them ended up talking about the play much, much longer than either of them every intended. Not all, but most of their morning classes were together, and as long as the teacher didn’t require everyone’s silence and attention, they jumped right back into their respective reviews. Their interactions before today, well, it wasn’t that they’d never spoken together, but all those times before now had been limited. Both remained reserved in their speeches, dialing their voices down as much as they could. Especially Vicky, even when she was dying to gush her little heart out about information on the history of the production that Liam had been unaware of, she kept herself as calm as she could. That wasn’t easy, though. Every time she saw his face, listening with sincere interest in the background notes she explained, it was a struggle to hold her composure.

This continued all the way to lunch, when Amira and Brian found them at their table. The ifrit and the zombie looked baffled by the two being in each other’s company. More importantly they weren’t sure if they were welcome to sit here with Liam. Both were too engrossed in conversation to notice them standing there for the first couple minutes.

“Oh! Brian! Amira! Finally, you two showed up,” Vicky hummed.

“We’ve been here three minutes,” Brian muttered flatly.

“Here, sit down, we’re talking about American Idiot!”

Brian did so, but had to ask, “ _Liam?_ You went to see American Idiot, too?”

“No.” he snapped.

The zombie noted, as Liam restarted his conversation with Vicky, he spoke as though he _definitely had_ seen the play in its entirety.

“Vicky?” the ifrit asked.

“Hm? What’s up?” Vicky gave a concerned look.

“……Is Liam the only one shitting on the play? Or are you _betraying my heart,_ too?” She had a grave tone in her voice.

“I’m not _shitting_ on it. You know I loved it, but there _were_ a few problems with—”

“No, no! I see how it is.” She feigned indignance as she turned on her heel. “I _refuse_ to hear your slanderous lies against the best, most awesome play of my life!” she declared. “I’ll see your shit-talking ass in gym!”

The corner of her lips twitched upward in spite of her forced frown, and Vicky knew she wasn’t seriously upset with her. Amira knew Vicky loved talking all this critical-analysis stuff, and Vicky knew Amira wasn’t a fan of tearing apart every single little detail of the shows and movies she liked. At least Amira was lucky enough that there was an open seat next to Vera. Greeting with gorgon with a, “hey boss,” Vera inclined her head, signaling she was accepted at the table.

“Tch, she’s simply afraid because she knows her beloved travesty can’t hold up under even a cursory critique.”

“She likes to enjoy the show and leave it at that. Trust me, she knows it wasn’t _perfect._ Discussions like this just aren’t her thing. I find them fun, but,” Vicky shrugged, “it’s simply not for her.”

“If you say.” Liam didn’t sound very convinced.

While he had been invited to join in on the discussion, and Brian did offer a few comments here and there, he spent most of lunch watching the spectacle of Liam de fucking Lioncourt actually talking with someone outside of their year’s in-crowd and it _wasn’t_ to judge them into a sobbing mess in the hallway. Maybe he shouldn’t have found this so surprising. The Nerd Squad knew this side of Vicky, the side that could talk anyone’s ear off—with Brian, sometimes literally. They all loved to see it, when she got so impassioned and there was no stopping her. But, if the ifrit and the zombie were being completely honest, eventually they would wear down from the overload.

It reminded the zombie of the absence of Oz. Until right this moment, the embodiment of Fear had been the only one able to keep up with her… for however long _this_ had been going on. Even as completely submerged in the debate as she was, Vicky noticed it, too. She couldn’t help but wonder if they’d like this, having someone else join them. They weren’t keen on large numbers for company, but most of the time they could handle discussions of small groups. Very small groups.

Honestly… Brian sat there, enjoying a comparatively quiet lunch as he watched their back and forth. Quiet, except for the part where he could not resist trolling Liam. Just a little.

Where Vicky was being effortlessly polite, Brian decided this debate needed to pick up some drama. His interjection stopped them both midsentence.

“I dunno, Liam, you sure you weren’t there because you secretly loved it?”

Liam visibly gagged. “I’m sorry, what part of ‘I thought it was an unpalatable self-indulgent mess of a performance based on a lackluster story from a by-gone era’ gave you the impression I felt anything _akin_ to adoration?”

“Bygone era? That album was released less than 15 years ago.”

“And I’m 4XX years old. Yet here _I_ am, _not_ flaunting my problematic past and using terms even our imbecilic society has realized have repugnant connotations and are wrong!”

“Mark Twain used the n-word all the time. We still read it in school.”

“Are you seriously trying to defend American Idiot with the works of that backwoods hack of a writer?”

(Silly Brian, you can’t defend mainstream trash with _more_ mainstream trash. Not with Liam.)

Vicky stole her way back in. “You both make a good point—I’m not a fan of the use of certain words either, but they _are_ remaining true to the source material, and it can be just as problematic to scrub it away and pretend it never happened.”

“I see your point, but I hardly think this qualifies as being the same—” Liam and Vicky were right back in their ceaseless debate. But the more of Vicky’s positive remarks Liam seemed to actually give serious thought, the more Brian smirked.

“For someone who hates Green Day so much, you sure know a lot about them. You almost sound like a real _fan,_ ” the zombie jeered.

“I know this much about the album because I like to be _well informed,_ Brian. That doesn’t mean I _liked_ it!”

Brian gave a lopsided grin. “The vampire doth protest too much, me thinks.”

“ _I protest just enough!_ ”

Liam launched into a full-steam-ahead lecture.

Vicky was wise to Brian’s games. She admonished him with a soft, “Rude,” to which his only response was his low, croaky chuckle.

It took the last few minutes of lunch, but Vicky’s calm voice brought him back to the normal tone of their debate.

At Vera’s table, her sister worked out a deal with a monster so inept at haggling, they ended up agreeing to a price higher than the one she originally set. Amira and Vera were ironing out the spreadsheet Amira had typed up for the betting pool. Nobody’s scheduled synched up for today, so the meeting wasn’t happening yet. Or, maybe a few people could make it, but Vera wouldn’t know. Some soon-to-be- _very_ -dead bastard had stolen her phone! At least she had made Amira and Valerie take back-up photos on their phones, so they could still work with the notes from the first meeting. Keeping herself busy was calming her, distracting her from her fury. Besides, both monsters agreed it was better to have everything prepared as far ahead of time as possible.

They had paused so the Oberlin sisters could mock the fool who’d departed the table with a practically empty wallet over a cheap item that in no way promised to make them look bolder. Amira’s text-alerts buzzed. And buzzed again. And again. And three more times. Ok—who the hell was blowing up her phone?

 

Unknown:: Yo

Unknown:: It’s damien

Unknown:: Got your number off vera’s phone

Unknown:: …

Unknown:: Don’t tell vera i’m the one who stole her phone

Unknown:: Anyway

Unknown:: Today sucks

Unknown:: Wanna hit downtown tonight?

Unknown:: By hit i mean blow shit up

Unknown:: Just to be clear

 

First order of business was adding in his contact info, she supposed. Hm. “Spitfire.” Yeah, that was a good nickname for Damien. She didn’t want to ditch Oz for the evening, too, but after spending the entire weekend together she knew there was a chance they needed it.

 

Amira:: You up?

Oz:: It’s past noon.

Amira:: Idk, sometimes you sleep really late. And I couldn’t tell how late you actually stayed up after I went to sleep

Oz:: Fair. Yeah, I’ve been up a while.

Amira:: Have you heard from Bri and Vi yet?

Oz:: Yeah, both told me they got stuff. You and me, then?

Amira:: About that

Amira:: I got invited to hang out, I haven’t said yes, not sure if I want to

Amira:: Would you prefer I come right back after class or do you need a little space?

Oz:: Actually, yeah. I think I’d rather be on my own today.

Oz:: Thank you.

Oz:: Meet up for dinner?

Amira:: Sounds great!

Oz:: Cool. :)

Oz:: Text me when you’re done with your thing.

 

Amira sent three hearts before switching back to Damien’s texts.

 

Amira:: I’m in

Amira:: What did you have in mind?

Damien:: >:)

\---

Liam and Vicky had never sat together before, but they were on the same bus route. The pair slipped their way onto the bus ahead of the line to steal the second seat from the front. The very front row was for the faux-academics who prided themselves on every standardized test they scored high on, as if that translated to intelligence. The back seat was for the cool kids. Liam would sooner drive a cliched stake through his own heart before sitting there. Besides, it was more practical. It made it easier to get off the bus.

“So,” Vicky started as she cuddled her backpack between her lap and the seat ahead of them. “I still haven’t heard you pick your one positive thing.”

Liam’s fangs poked out through an exhausted sneer.

“You know, it’s alright if there really isn’t anything you can say in its favor. I honestly didn’t expect you to stick with my little challenge for this long.”

Liam gave a light laugh at that. “If I lost patience with a task and gave up on it that quickly, the last 400-odd years of my life would have been appallingly boring.

Vicky shifted her eyes out the window. “Oh, I can only imagine.”

“But… I may have thought of _one_ positive aspect.”

“You have?” She could hardly restrain her gasp, and it made Liam smile. It was good to know he could still catch other monsters by surprise now and then, not just humans who jumped at everything with the slightest abnormalities.

“At the release of the original album, in spite of the blandness of the lyrics, it did, somehow, manage to encourage many of this new generation to strive for non-conformity. Obviously most of them failed and only wound up forming a new branch of the mainstream, but at least young people were being inspired to question the established authority.”

“‘Rebel against authority.’ Not to be rude, but you sure you’re not spending too much time with LaVey?”

Liam rolled his eyes, but for once, not derisively. “He can be petulant with his rants, can’t he? As short as his list of bearable qualities is, his steadfast refusal to accept the restrictive norms imposed on us all by society is one of the few things I find admirable—” Liam caught himself, but it was too late. Why did he just say that? To Victoria Schmidt, no less? Sure, he had a tendency to run a bit lengthy with his speeches—

(Lengthy!? Lengthy is taking one entire class period. I literally had to write an entire day of you two nerding out over the course of two weeks! And all you can call it is _lengthy?_ )

—but more than a few times today, he found himself speaking notably more freely than he normally would. Though, he supposed… she may have been one creepy little girl with skin marred in stitches who everyone knew was up to some weird shit almost all the time. But she wasn’t the type to immediately turn around to start gossiping about his accidental slip, giving a compliment for Damien LaVey, to ruin his image.

“Ah-hem, but, besides that,” Liam tried to hard pivot back to the play. “While I detested the play… it _did_ manage to scrape up a story out of that junkheap of a concept album.”

Vicky gaped, wide-eyed in so much shock that electricity was generating in her neck-bolts. The hair of many of the students around them stood on end from the static.

“What?”

“That was _two_ things!” Her eyes beamed, her voice was almost breathlessly awestruck.

“Don’t get used to it. It was still overrated garbage.”

“Yeah, oh of course, sure, _two things!_ ”

Liam held a finger to the ear she sat beside. “I think you just hit an octave only dolphins can hear.”

“If you think that was good, you should hear our band play.”

“You’re in a band?” Liam asked with reserved curiosity. And here he’d been sure he was aware of all the musical “talent” their school had to offer.

“Yep!”

“And in this band, you play…?”

“I’m lead vocalist, sometimes I add a little bit on piano, Amira’s guitar, Brian’s on drums, and Oz plays bass.”

“Are you four any _good?_ ” Of that, he was extremely skeptical, and he had no problem expressing so.

“Well I think we’re awesome, but, you know, almost no one shows up for our gigs.” She cast her eyes sheepishly at the seat in front of them.

Keen interest suddenly gleamed in Liam’s eyes. “R-really? Doesn’t anyone at school come?”

Vicky’s eyes tried to hold that ray of hope, but an instinctive wince betrayed her. “Not yet, no. We’ve even tried putting up posters, but they knew it was the four of us. So they all got either so heavily graffitied they were illegible or ripped up… or packed tight enough into toilets that they clogged, and _we_ wound up in detention for it… or burned…” She couldn’t hold back the disappointed sigh that now heaved out of her lungs. “Guess we’re doomed to be that poorly-known, I suppose.”

“When’s your next gig?”

Vicky’s head snapped up. She looked for the tell-tale signs of veiled mockery, of someone about to make her the butt of their cruel joke. Not one glint of insincerity could be found in his eyes. _Hers_ lit up like a non-descript holiday tree.

“You’re interested in hearing us play!?”

“I can’t exactly determine the merit of a band without hearing its music, now can I?”

Regardless of how he tried to give _no_ indication that she should hope for his approval, her glow didn’t let up even slightly.

“Yeah! No! Of course! I mean, we can’t get fans or haters if no one comes to see us!” Vicky said as she hurriedly swiped through her phone for the exact info Brian had sent her. “No, that’s not… urgh! Where is it?”

Liam shot a glance out the window. His eyebrows pinched together. “My stop is next.”

“Dammit! It’s in here!”

He could hear the buzzing of her neck-bolts. At this rate she was getting so frantic, that electricity might blow something up. “Here.” Liam took the phone from her hands and added in his number. “Just text me when you know it. Have a nice night.”

He gave her a nod and hurried off the bus before the alarmingly muscular ogres could trample him as they shoved through. The goodbye she called out was drowned under their growling for him to move it. Vicky practically bounced in her seat at the idea of someone she knew coming to see their band perform. That happy feeling carried her all the way to her doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, a couple things:  
> 1: At the start of the first chapter I put some context-notes for my world, in which I said everyone aside from Miranda was age 20 at the point of said first chapter. I forgot to mention it also excluded Liam who is over 400. But more importantly, I need to clarify that *age is not the same as 'years-old.'* That's all I will say for right now.
> 
> 2: For anyone curious about my schedule going forward from the Holiday/Christmas special, and *if* I plan to keep one. Yes, I do. If I can manage it, I will update once a week. I know this chapter took notably longer, it was just a slow one for me. That being said, it's entirely possible life won't be so kind and 1 per week won't happen. At MINIMUM it will be once every other week.
> 
> 3: THAT being said, either after this chapter or maybe I'll put out the next first, I'm going to be taking a tad bit of a writing break--NOT a hiatus, and not for long. Blasting through 6 chapters over the holidays put me further in the story than I had planned for. And while my writing is very much a mix of planning and on-the-fly-whatever-the-moment-calls-for styles, I *do* want to re-establish a bit more direction for myself so the story doesn't end up rambling along too much. I've said from the beginning, this story is going to take a long time to unfold, and I'm absolutely taking my time to let the story do what it wants, but I don't want to make it unnecessarily long by forgetting where I'm going.  
> So, if there's a long-ish pause between updates, I'm not dropping the story, I can't, I'm in too deep now, I'm just taking some time to plan ahead.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far, you beautiful nerds! ^u^


	14. The Beginning of Something Really Excellent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you take offense to or feel personally targeted by statements I make in the first paragraph...... I don't know what to tell you, but you're reading the wrong story. At *no* point in all 13 chapters so far have I tried to hide my position on lgbt issues.
> 
> Warning: Fire-related violence

**_Hard Rewind…_ **

**[5 Years]**

You’d think in a culture of monsters, a population of the beasts of our worst nightmares that came in all shapes, and colors, and all degrees of _depravity,_ that things like homophobia and transphobia wouldn’t be commonplace. That they would be a non-issue. With everyone banging each other across differences of species, what difference should gender make? Hell, look at the Catholic dark-pantheon. A large portion of demons are damned _because_ they did a little too much butt-stuff. With so many monsters capable of shapeshifting, you’d think no one would even blink an eye at one who was transgender. If you thought all that, then you’d be forgetting all the monsters in the world that harass, abuse, and murder LGBT+ people.

You forget: _they’re monsters._

But far more monsters fought in favor of gay rights than against them. Like at MYTH, a club that held under 21 nights on Wednesdays, and was a well-known, well-loved venue for the LGBT community.

Inside, on one such night where the club was filled with high-school monsters dancing as if the apocalypse was coming to end all their worries, two girls swayed together. Neon lights bathed them in alternating colors to the beat of a mindless pop-song everyone knew but damn them all if any one of them could tell you the name. These young women couldn’t name each other either, but this wasn’t a place for names. It was for pulsing rhythms, hidden shots of liquor, and the dizzying sight of the sexy monster in front of you. Neither of these two were starved for a view.

Two golden horns gleamed every time they caught the lights and stood dangerously out of voluminous, jet back curls that trailed down her back, just brushing over a glitter-gilded tail swishing to the beat. If looks could kill, this girl’s striking, extravagantly painted face would have her dance partner dead on the floor. At least that was what the girl looking at her thought in that moment. This girl had neon green, shoulder-length hair that glowed slightly, reacting to the blacklights. The gold-horned monster couldn’t help but think the color went really well with the deep green of her eyes. Her makeup wasn’t as daring as her own, but the smoky eye-shadow of gradient greens, the flare of her eyeliner, and bold lipstick over the umber tone of her skin was gorgeously done. And sweet sin her outfit—not very revealing, but wild and fun—was to _die_ for.

The DJ’s call for the last song came too damn soon. But the booing and hissing gave gold-horns an opening to slip a whisper in her dance partner’s ear.

“You wanna take this party to your place, sugar?”

Green-hair gave a sad but sultry pout. “It’s a school night baby. Party’s over for me.” She somehow made that sound sexy, probably assisted by the fact she rolled her hips against the other’s as she said it, but gold-horns rolled her eyes.

“Ugh. Fucking little tease.”

But there was a snarky grin plastered on Goldie’s gorgeous, wine-red lips. Green-hair knew it was all in good fun. Something tugged on the back of her mind—something about her smirk, the way she spoke.

“I had a great time.”

“Calling it a night?”

Greenie nodded. “I gotta snort a whole trough of coke in the bathrooms before I head out. Can’t go home to my parents looking like a responsible teenager.” That got Goldie sputtering laughter, giving Greenie an opening to give her a peck on the cheek before pushing her way to the restrooms. Goldie watched until the crowd swallowed her up, then went for one more water and took it to the alchemist at the end of the bar transmuting everyone’s drinks into wine before heading out herself. This party just got crazy lame.

The girl with neon green hair followed out with the last group of monsters that got herded out of the restrooms. All collectively rolled their eyes at the cat-calls from the adults (Gross.) waiting in line for the real party to start. It was only midnight, clubs in Monstropolis were open literally till dawn. The others were all part of their own groups, or soon met up with their friends behind the club as everyone skulked through the alleys back toward homes or better parties. No one noticed green-hair’s chest was flatter now. No one could tell with the thick, black leather jacket she now wore. No one paid any mind to the jeans that replaced the skirt. No one cared about the plastic bag holding her other clothes.

Eventually, she found a dumpster a comfortable distance away from the club and the crowd leaving it. She had looked so good tonight. _Felt_ so good tonight. What felt even better was not being the only one who thought so. She smiled at the memory. It was such a shame having to throw out every piece of the sexiest outfit she owned, but there was nowhere in her house she could hide it where it would be safe from discovery. It was what sucked the most about living in a home where you were almost never alone. She knew wherever a certain friend of hers was, he just called out to her, “Preach.”

She tossed the bag into the open dumpster. Out of her pocket, she pulled a sheet of paper with a spell stored on it, made for her by another friend. One quick swish and the makeup was gone, not a trace to be found. A reluctant hand reached up to pull her wig off, revealing a head of short, cleanly styled dancing flames for hair. Such a prep-boy look, she thought. She shut her eyes and tossed the wig in the trash. The words, “no fucking way,” were murmured so distant she thought it was part of another’s conversation. She didn’t even register the distinct sound of high-heels clicking towards her.

“ _Ilyas!_ Is that fuckin’ _you?_ ”

She jumped back at the name. A thousand thoughts raced. No. No, no. She had recognized all of five people at that party and they were all long gone. No. Who could have? The voice was familiar. _Please_ be no one from her family _please._

There stood gold-horns, so stupefied she almost bit through the cigarette between her teeth… and with… very much _not golden_ horns. Her eyes caught a glint in the dim light and saw two horn-caps clutched in Goldie’s hand. Well that explained that, but…

…but those horns. That shade of red. Now, in better light and not hidden from view by a dancing crowd of people around them, the shape of the tip of her tail was clearly seen—a spade. There was red flesh, a lighter shade than her horns, under the gold glitter painted over the whole length of it. Even with the bewildered eyes, Goldie had a very distinct expressiveness in her face Ilyas should have caught right away. If that wasn’t enough there was her posture, absolutely radiating with that cocky attitude.

“ _LaVey!?!_ ”

\---

**_Present…_ **

The final bell signaled their release from ~~prison~~ school, and students funneled from classrooms, into the hall, and poured out the doors to the busses. Vicky gave her friends their customary squeeze-hugs before leaving, but she was already neck-deep in conversation with the purple-skinned vampire by the time she turned away from them.

Amira accompanied Brian on his way to the buses.

“You still doing alright?” Brian considered what he’d just asked. “Or, alright-ish?”

Amira let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely only holding up this well because I haven’t spent one night alone so far. The _minute_ Oz has to go back home I’m just gonna be in my sheets sobbing, cause guess who—” Amira stopped herself. Brian waited patiently. “Look, there’s something I have to talk about, no surprise it’s my parents again, but I want to do it when we have more time.”

 “Sorry Vicky and I are bailing on you.” Guilt laced his voice.

“You’re not bailing, you two have family stuff. You’re both fine. Look, don’t worry about it, nothing can be done now, it’s not even a _big_ deal, just… next time we all hang out, kay?”

“You got it.” Sympathy crossed Brian’s face. “And, just so you know, you’re actually not that far from my building now. If you’re ever in trouble, or in danger, me and Becky can come help.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And Oz… they ok?”

“You mean, are they not a quivering mess on the floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Thankfully, no, they’re not. Hope they’ve stayed that way.”

The conversation hit a lull as they followed the flow of the crowd that only allowed them to walk at a snail’s pace. A low groan gurgled out of Brian’s throat.

“I do not want to go to this god damn house meeting.”

“Isn’t it about your drums?”

“Yeah, and I want to know who did it, but…” Brian heaved a heavy sigh. “Everyone’s going to turn it into a spectacle. Half of them are going to be assholes about it. There’s no way we’re going to find out in this meeting, so moms will lay down some punishment until the culprit comes forward. And until they do everyone will be mad at me over it.”

When Amira started _hearing_ his teeth grinding, she put a hand on his shoulder.

“Look could you—” Brian grunted. “No, never—”

“Brian, before you try to tell me it’s nothing, I want you to remember _I owe you so fucking much._ What do you need, bud? Can I—what?”

The remnants of Brian’s mouth held shut in a tight line until he saw the gentle smile and eagerness in her eyes to help him. “You’re working for Vera, right? …If there are any jobs where you need one more guy, could you pull me in? I need income a _little_ more consistently than traded-off accidental terrorist attacks.”

“For fucking sure, I can. You’re officially my first pick. Every time, pal.”

“Thanks.” Amira was on the side of him so she could see the smile on his face. “Though, you might want to leave me out if the job requires Oz’s next-level shit.”

“Oh, come on, I know you could stretch out your shadow-body into a ramp just as good as they can.”

Brian snorted, rolling his eyes. When they reached Brian’s line, they each said “see ya,” and fist-bumped as Amira continued across to the student parking lot.

Her eyes searched for Damien’s car as she walked out in the direction he’d said he’d parked. A key indicator would have been the sound of cranked-up metal blasting and following the sound to that car, but right at the release of school, half the cars had some beat pounding out the windows. The rev of an engine and shriek of tires behind her barely warned her in time to dodge some asshole speeding through the lot. Executing a perfect parkour dodge-roll, she spun with the intent to shout profanities to the driver’s distant taillights. Instead the car screeched to a halt a few yards away. A red arm already leaned out the driver side window, soon followed by Damien’s red, smug-ass head. One eyebrow arched over the frames of his sunglasses. Over blaring metal music he shouted,

“Get in loser, we’re going destroying.”

Wrathful embers smoldered in Amira’s eyes. She hopped in, but she still gave him an earful for being a shit. So… _so_ much to her chagrin, her grumbled curses upon his name only seemed to fuel him, widening that childish, sack-of-shit grin.

“And you still never actually said what we’re doing.”

Damien’s smile now was as close as an organic face could get to replicating the emoticon he’d sent her.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“That does not at all answer my question.”

His foot slammed the pedal to the floor. The speed slammed Amira against the seat, and she roll her eyes at the understanding that was a good an answer as she would get. For a while she submitted to his pick of the music, but when the playlist became exclusively thrash metal she pulled co-pilot privileges. He threatened to drive them into a ditch until she convinced him she’d keep it metal. The little shit of a demon conceded, grumbling, “as long as it’s metal,” and something else Amira tuned out. However, as driver, he declared he had veto-power for every song that sucked. For the sake of not having to listen to him shout “no” at every other song, she did stick to things she assumed he’d like.

Damien wove his way through traffic, avoiding the worst of the rush-hour mess, mounting the curb when it couldn’t be helped. As he neared his destination, he told Amira, “Stop one is a smash-and-grab.”

“Seriously? That’s your big plan?”

“ _Fuck_ NO. What part of ‘stop one’ did your dipshit brain not get?”

Amira deadpan stared at him. Maybe hanging out with him was a bad idea after all. She considered this only a trial-run, but she hadn’t mentioned who she was out with tonight to any of her friends. She knew what they’d say, but she could handle LaVey. After Oz, she was the next most durable of the four. If he became a regular arson-friend, she’d let them know. She was about to ask what they were grabbing, but Damien was already saying, “Get ready to jump out, I’ll keep the engine hot,” and slammed the breaks in front of a fireworks store.

Amira slammed into the dashboard, barely catching herself with her arms. Car-related injuries hardly counted as “magical,” so they didn’t fracture like they should have with that force. Still hurt quite a bit.

 _(Maybe_ would have been a good idea to buckle up, considering the driver.)

This was hardly the time to criticize his lack of warning unless she wanted to go slow enough for them to get caught. She popped the door open and bolted over the sidewalk. A jingling bell greeted the cashier and other customers. Very few of whom turned their heads at the sound of the bell, though plenty turned at the sound of her fake-cough. She held up one finger, a delicate little flame sparked on the tip of her nail. With a precisely woven pattern, she cast a fire-tripwire spell—one of the few kinds of spellcasting she had an effortless talent for. A thin filament of flame wound up and down the aisles and around the store clerk. Fire. In a store with exclusively explosive merchandise.

“I wouldn’t.”

They didn’t.

Three hinn popped out behind the ifrit, each scampered down a different row of shelves to grab what they could. Their arms were full in under half a minute, and as she backed out the door she gave a quick salute. The hinn all hopped into the back, depositing the fireworks on the seat before poofing away. Damien’s sunglasses slipped off the bridge of his nose, revealing his look of utter confusion. But Amira dove back into the passenger seat shouting at him to go, so he sped out as she slammed the door shut. Once seated comfortably, Amira shoved her steals into the back with the rest and raised a hand to deactivate the spell. Or she planned to until she saw the shop windows exploding with deadly colors in the rearview mirror.

“Sucks to suuuuuuck.”

Damien was about to ask until he caught sight of the mirrors too. Amidst his cackles, she smirked, “Told ‘em not to move.”

 

It’s so uplifting to know there are high schools out there dedicated to providing students courses with real-world applications. Like in Limited-Squad Strategies, (teaching students to maximize quality out of minimal quantity to achieve their goals) where one entire class was dedicated to impromptu fireworks detonation. Damien always grumbled about “teambuilding exercises” but anything with the word “detonation,” he was all over! Amira agreed to let him have the ignition role. He’d looked so excited at the prospect, how could she say no?

Through the aisles of the Home Depot, Amira ran ahead, arms loaded with fireworks that she placed in the middle of the floor. She was flanked by one of her familiars that carried more fireworks, while a rottweiler-headed hinn darted around her as-needed to fend off anyone who tried to interfere with or block its master.

Bringing up the rear a couple years back was the royal red hellion himself, matchbox in hands to light the charges she had laid out. A few times somebody stopped being distracted by Amira whooping and hollering, and her familiars yipping and barking, to notice him. As he wasn’t heavily encumbered like Amira was, Damien had room to dodge the smart-asses that tried to make a last-ditch effort to stop the explosions. He hopped up onto the orange, metal shelves, and dived back down to spark the fuse, smacking one lady across the face with his tail for good measure.

As the serpentine monster recovered, she saw the wick fizzling out barely in time to run, screaming for the others around her to do the same. The first few whistled as they launched—people gave up trying to stop them after that. Then, they just scattered in a panic seeking freedom or refuge from the very flammable products… especially those in the lumber aisle.

Amira was clean out of fireworks and whistled for her familiars to regroup behind her. She and Damien had agreed on an aisle to meet up and enjoy a good view of their handiwork. Heading towards the back, she saw the sign for the paint aisle, and then her vision was a blur as one bold-ass employee tackled her to the hard, concrete floor. The crack to her skull from hitting the ground closed right back up, but the pain throbbed through her head still when the first blow to her face came down. The employee was a wolf-like beast with two tails keeping her familiars from coming to her aid. The repeated blows to her head kept her from gathering enough brain power to even dish out an instinctive fire-blast.

“SMILE PRETTY, YA SHIT-GUZZLING JIZZ-TROUGH.”

Repulsed and confused by that colorful vulgarity, the wolfman looked up to see the demon prince with a cracked horn holding the last firework on his shoulder. Damien ignited the whole wick for an immediate launch, and it shot straight into the monster’s gaping jaw.

Purple and pink and green exploded out as he was engulfed in flames.

The two hinn had seen him coming and were well out of range. They came back to help their master to her feet once the burning, wailing monster rolled off her. Damien grabbed her shoulder to get her the rest of the way up, and they leaned against a couple sizzling-hot metal poles supporting the shelves while she caught her breath.

“Maybe it’s a good thing we fight so much—so you’d know I was immune to fire and explosions.”

“Oh yeah, real lucky guess I made there, am I right?” Pride in himself oozed in his voice.

“…You didn’t _know?_ ”

“I was _pretty_ sure,” he shrugged, grin not waning even slightly.

“Goddammit LaVey,” she muttered. More importantly, she was sure the fire department had to be on their way by now. “Let’s get out of here already. I gotta meet up with Oz later and I don’t feel like ditching them ‘cause I got caught up with the cops.” She started to head for the exit.

“Hmmm… yeah… sure, we can go soon, let me just…”

Amira spun, her lip curled into a snarl, thinking this was another one of his outrun-the-law games he was trying to play, then she saw his face. He looked up to the rafters where the flames roared high. A shade of pink rose in his cheeks. Anyone else would think it was from the heat, but Amira knew better. He wasn’t so easily affected by fire, hell his body temperature was probably about this hot at a resting level. Damien was legitimately getting off on this—she didn’t need to look at the slight bulge in his pants to know that.

“Oh come on,” she groaned. “Guess if I make it back to the car first that means I get to driiive~!” Amira called over her shoulder as she broke into a sprint.

Damien snapped out of his daze. He’d driven Nancy today.

“NO FUCKFACE DRIVES NANCY BUT ME!”

Amira was about to point out Damien just called himself a fuckface, but when she looked back he was barely three feet behind her. She’d started this to get him to leave faster. That didn’t mean she would give him the win. Not that easy. Both had to duck and slide under debris that suddenly fell as they approached it, and leap over the hurdles of abandoned carts and personal belongings. Amira smirked, she hoped Damien was prepared for this to get more interesting when she shot a fire-ball to topple over one of the huge, wheeled step-ladders in front of him. Apparently he was, because he roared white-hot flames that melted an opening, so he didn’t have to slow his stride at all. The only thing Amira was angry about was the look of surprise on her face that the demon saw when he looked back at her. The self-satisfaction on his face was something she knew he’d never let go of. Yeah, she was impressed but she hadn’t wanted him to _know_ that.

She whistled at the two familiars at her heels and nodded for them to hurry the hell up. They scampered as fast as they could. The rottweiler-headed one could barely reach the demon, but the greyhound-headed hinn overtook him with ease. It leapt through the open window and barked, announcing its victory from the driver’s seat.

Damien snarled, opened the driver door and shoved it aside to the passenger seat.

“Looks like that’s my victory, LaVey!” She slid in the passenger side, scooting her familiar between them while the second sat in the back.

“Like dog-piss it is! This thing made it, not you!”

“ _My_ familiar, _my_ win.”

“That _so_ doesn’t count! I beat _you_ —that’s all that shitting matters!”

“Familiars are an extension a monster’s will and capabilities. All their successes are your successes— _therefore,_ I won.”

“Like SHIT your slow ass won!”

Distant sirens reached her ears.

“Yeah, ok, great, we can decide the winner later. Let’s—”

“You’re just trying to avoid admitting I beat your ass!” Damien sneered with a prideful smirk.

“I’m really not. Fucking _drive_ you assho—”

“Familiars do not shitdicking count as your win in a fucking foot-race!”

Oh he was really doing this, wasn’t he?

“What’s the matter Dames? Can’t take on a li’l pup like this?” The greyhound-headed hinn barked. “Bet she could drink your ass under the table too.”

“YOU WANNA BET?!”

Damien gunned it down out of the parking lot and down the road to the nearest bar.

\---

Oz laid resting in the shadows of a gargoyle.

(No, not laying down, covered by the shadows, they _were_ the shadows.)

It was that early night hour where all trace of the sunlight was gone. They almost couldn’t believe they’d spent a whole _four hours_ stalking one meal. Ah, they couldn’t deny it. That was one of the most satisfying meals they’d had in weeks.

The shadows of the gargoyle sprouted eyes and looked up, penetrating the city’s light-pollution to see the stars above. Feeling this good, rested and relaxed from one amazing day all to themself, Oz realized how right Brian had been. Their anxiety had progressed, creeped up on them so gradually they hadn’t even recognized that they’d felt so miserable. It wasn’t gone, of course. That was clear as their gentle eyes on the night sky slowly tensed, their brow knotting together in a look of resigned dread. But at least they could enjoy the rest of this week until they had to go back home.

Amira still hadn’t texted, but that wasn’t surprising. Although it was solidly night, it was only a few hours after class got out. Monster schools ran weirder hours compared to human schools, for nocturnal students, after all. Oz decided they felt calm enough to handle walking the streets along with all the other monsters. They could kill two birds with one stone: drink in all the ordinary fears that trickled through city life _and_ make some progress on one of their favorite games. Oz pulled the app open on their phone and whittled away the time till they could meet up with Amira.

\---

Such a trooper, Amira’s familiar had long since passed out from trying to out-drink a demon prince of Hell. A prince who proceeded to polish off his drink and the rest of the hinn’s. At least he forgotten he competitive rage at the same time.

“Then— _then_ did you see that wolf-fuck’s face? He fuckin’ _deep-throated_ that firework!” Damien laughed.

Amira snorted and rolled her eyes. “No. No I didn’t. I was getting my face battered in, remember?” She’d splashed most of the blood off in the bathrooms, and large purple splotches had already started shining through. The worst of them surrounded her left eye.

“Oh yeah, that was good shit.”

Amira gave him a flat stare. “Me getting beaten half unconscious was good shit?”

“Oh right, you couldn’t see yourself. When he tackled you, you went fucking _DOWN_. It was like something out of a cartoon—that could not have been timed better.”

Amira’s expression did not share Damien’s enthusiasm. She was less enthused when she took a sip of her Moscow Mule and he was back at it with the tactless questions.

“So… your family… they _actually_ disowned you over your transition?”

She adjusted her wrist to take a much deeper gulp. Long enough that she was out of breath by the time the copper mug hit the bar.

“ _Jesus,_ LaVey we just torched a Home Depot so I could forget what I’m mad about. Why do you even keep bringing it up?”

She kept a hard stare on him, but Damien was… silent. Amira didn’t even know Damien was _capable_ of silence. Much less the kind of silence that came with… was that really a _thoughtful_ look on his face? He wouldn’t even meet her gaze.

“Why did you go through with it if they were going to kick you out like that?”

“You think I knew they’d do this? I thought they loved me—shows what an idiot I am.” She called for one more drink.

Damien stared into the last mouthful of his as if he could scry for a better answer.

“They’re your own parents. You really didn’t see it coming?”

“If I’d thought for one minute they’d react like this…” The bartender slid the freshly filled glass down to her. She took a hard gulp. “Maybe I would have put off going through with the ritual until after high school. Or college— _uugh._ ” Amira groaned and dragged her nails through her hair.

Damien’s nails clawed thin scratch-lines in the glass he gripped. As if to distract himself from some unspoken worry—and avoid spilling beer all over himself if he broke the glass—he let go of it and pulled out his phone. She saw he was pulling up some game.

 _‘Didn’t take him for the fidget-with-games type.’_ But whatever, nothing remarkable. She took a sip and sighed. “Short answer is yes. I have now officially been disowned, the Rashid’s familiar delivered their letter letting me know so.” She groaned. “Also a demand of reimbursement for the killing of the last one they sent.”

“You mean these dog things?”

“They’re called hinn, haven’t you ever once paid attention to a class?”

“When it’s not lame, sure. So, are these things, like, everywhere? Cause I swear I murdered the shit out of one last week. And where’d your other one go?”

Amira looked at him curiously. “They shouldn’t be. Hinn only come out from their home-realm when summoned by an ifrit. The other one was sent back, I didn’t need her anymore. Where did you find one?”

“Got flung through the school walls and landed in the middle of the football field. It was the day that radical-ass shadow wrecked the cafeteria.”

“So that’s what happened to him.” Amira chuckled. “I wondered if he survived O—” Shit that was close! “Oooohhh… you know… the uh… you know… that attack.” Oh Vera would have had her head if she spilled the beans right there!

“Wait, did you see it?!” Damien leaned so far off the bar stool he was basically balancing on the cross-bars of the stool. “Do you know who it was?!”

“Y-yeah I saw it, but, who… that’s a…”

Damien let out an aggravated roar as he plopped his butt back down on the stool. “Another fucking shit head who can’t fucking remember a thing. Pretty much nobody will even talk to me about it. Maaaaan…” The demon crossed his arms and slumped over the bar, his head rested on his arms. “Can’t even get anyone to talk to me about it. Friggin cowards.”

Amira could have won a championship with the poker face she rocked in that moment. Oh the poison-laced bullets she just dodged. She could have drummed up a compelling story to really sell the lie, but sometimes the most convincing lies were the ones you didn’t have to tell yourself. An empty apology was all she muttered out, to which Damien shook his head with another whatever. The demon was swiping something on his phone a lot. He had started tapping buttons again when he suddenly exclaimed,

“OH. MY. FUCK.”

Amira jolted slightly. It was kind of stupid, this was Damien LaVey, he suddenly shouted all the time. Why this one surprised her, who knew, but he wasn’t about to explain himself like a regular fucking person. He was already shouting at her to hurry up, they had to go! In a fluid motion, Amira simultaneously snapped her fingers to send the unconscious hinn away and threw out some “money” for the drinks. And by money, I mean she utilized the other kind of magic she was good at: transformation. Not trans _mutation_ —

There was a _difference_ , and she will laugh her ass off while she uses it to trick you if your dumb ass can’t tell the difference.

Trans _formation_ magic doesn’t actually change the composition of the object or person, only makes it _look_ like it’s something else. Advanced transformation can convincingly pass the test of other senses—smell, touch, etc. Nothing so fancy was needed to trick the monster who’d served them into accepting bar napkins as payment. He even nodded a thank you at her generous tip as she winked at him before running out the door.

(Though, it should be noted she was proficient with transmutation as well.)

She barely saw Damien round a corner in time before he disappeared behind it. It took a couple boosts using her fire to jump ahead to catch up to him, and when she did she finally yelled to ask what the hell this was about.

He was about to answer. However Damien, with eyes glued to his phone and not paying attention, charged straight into another monster. “Yo fuckass! Watch where you’re going! Huh?”

Amira caught up to see the little monster laid flat on the back, their phone saved from destruction by three little phobias who’d quickly grabbed it for them.

“Oz!” Amira grinned. “Whatcha doing out here?”

Oz groaned as they pushed themself up.

Less excited, but still with a smile, Damien greeted the shadow. “Hey noob.”

Oz raised a bushy eyebrow. That wasn’t the first time the demon had called them that, but they were starting to wonder how long it’d take and how “rad” they’d have to be to get free themself from the less than flattering title. _“H-hey…”_ Their eyes widened. _“Amira! What happened to you?”_ Their telepathic voice carried a high-pitched undertone of worry. They looked between Amira and Damien.

“Heh, right,” she gave a faint smile, then noticed a dark look starting to cross their face. “Oh! No, wasn’t him! Someone else did this. Not a shining moment for me. We burned down a store and one of the employees had a problem with that.”

Oz relaxed at that. The demon wasn’t at all offended by the assumption, hell he barely paid attention. Damien’s eyes had flicked to the phone they’d dropped. His eyes widened and his jaw hung open. “YOU PLAY POKEMANS GO?”

“Oh dear,” Amira winced, but with a less than sympathetic smile. It was nerdy—all of the nerd squad was into plenty of nerdy shit. But Oz was the only one of, well, she assumed _anyone_ who still played the game this long after those first couple months where the game was “cool.”

 _“H-huh?”_ Oz looked at their phone. Their skin jolted with static and their eyes snapped wide. Embarrassment drained their cheeks of color. Before they could think to hide their phone screen, play it off, deny it, Damien had grabbed it and the phobias shook their fists in protest at the theft. _“It’s—it’s not! I don’t really—”_

“Fuckin SWEET!” Damien roared.

“HUH?!” both Amira and Oz stared dumbfounded at the demon prince.

“Team Impulse, huh?” Damien seemed to seriously think about something. Then shrugged. “I won’t hold it against you.” Damien held up both phones, tapped a few buttons on Oz’s, and then pulled something up on his.

_“W-what are you d-doing?”_

“Getting your friend code, loser. It’s literally me and Scott all the time. I need these fucking gifts out of my inventory. Also gimme shit.” When he finished, he tossed the phone to Oz whose reflexes barely kicked in enough to catch it. Damien looked to Amira, who still stared slack-jawed at him. “What?”

“You’ve been playing Pokemans Go this whole time?”

“It’s fucking cool! You got a problem?” He growled.

“No! No—I only…” She looked to Oz. Oz was more stunned to silence than she was. Right. “…didn’t know you played.”

“Do you play too?” Hope sparked in his eyes.

“No.”

Hope died in his eyes.

Damien turned to Oz with a heavy, honestly way-more-dramatic-than-necessary sigh. “At least one person gets it.” Damien clapped Oz on the shoulder.

It took every ounce of Oz’s concentration to keep their form from… from… they couldn’t tell what it wanted to do. Melt? Vibrate? Solidify into stone? _Oz_ wanted their form to do none of these things.

Nevermind their anxiety about being near Damien—Oz didn’t let anyone outside their three friends be this close _period._ Except those they wound up eating, or those who were looking for a fight/to bully them. Damien… Damien wasn’t being any of those. He was being non-hostile. Wasn’t the heist supposed to be a fluke?

“Oh fuck! Quick! We’re gonna miss it! There’s a—”

 _“Really r-rare one here, yeah, I w-was just looking f-for it,”_ they stammered. Both monsters got their phones back up. To their relief, it hadn’t disappeared yet, and both successfully captured it. Though, one of them was slightly louder about every miss and blocked pokeball.

The whole time Amira stared, baffled, head tilted to the side. She followed them around, face locked in confusion as the trio wandered the city hunting Pokemans. Damien’s growling stomach reminded Amira hers was running on empty too. Two drinks barely gave her a buzz, and Damien, well, she couldn’t tell yet what his tolerance was for alcohol was, but the walk had been enough for both to return to sobriety. Now the two were left ravenous.

Damien groaned how starved he was.

 _“Amira and I were going to get dinner after she was done with... uh… this.”_ She hadn’t been specific in her texts earlier. They looked back at their friend, making sure she wasn’t about to be against the idea. At her smile, Oz offered, _“Wanna come?”_

“Perfect! My dads can’t make me eat dinner with them if I’m already full. Where to, noob?”

Oz’s insides shivered, suddenly aware they’d just been put in charge of deciding plans. Uh oh. Their eyes darted between the two fiery monsters.

 _“We… w-we could… u-um…”_ Oz’s mind got frantic. They weren’t exactly the authority on what normal-food restaurants were good!

Amira wasn’t about to let her friend get freaked out like this. “How about Pearl Prim’s?”

“Fuck yes!” Damien agreed. “They know how to do spicy food right. C’mon,” he nodded to Oz. “We can beat up some Mutant gyms on the way.”

_“S-sure!”_

A look that Damien was starting to recognize as a smile beamed from the mouthless noob’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the first flashback. Those will pop up here and there. ;)  
> Also, I'd apologize and say I didn't mean for the chapter to be this long *again,* but at this point I think you guys are used to my shit.  
> Thanks as always for reading! This was such a fun chapter for me to write. I love hearing people's thoughts so please feel free to comment if you wish!
> 
> For reference, I've name the Pokemans Go teams as such:  
> Instinct—Impulse  
> Mystic—Mutant  
> Valor—Vile


	15. Would You Believe This is What Constitutes as Normal Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's. Not. Tomorrow. Until. I. Go. To. Sleep.  
> Happy Valentine's Day, monsterfuckers.

The restaurant Amira chose was one of the better Indian restaurants in the city. Naturally, Damien went for the spiciest dish they had. Again Oz only ordered a small plate, since they’d taken care of their real dinner earlier. Aside from the addition of Damien’s loud “indoor voice,” it was a fairly normal outing for the ifrit and gooey shadow. Amira realized that whatever his reason was, Damien had needed that destruction-excursion almost as much as she did. He was still pretty outlandish with every other breath, but he was having dinner and _close to_ a normal conversation with both of them without burning down the place. Most of his and Oz’s talks circled around Pokemans Go, though. When she tried to insist the two put their phones away, she found herself on the losing side of the argument.

 _“But team Mutant keeps taking the gym back!”_ Oz pleaded.

“And the only other team Vile player in the area has dick-all for pokemans! They’re seriously no fucking help.” Damien growled. “You just had to be Impulse. You and Scott both suck!”

_“Scott’s Team Impulse, too?”_

Damien rolled his eyes. “Does dog-boy look like enough of a self-righteous douche for Mutant?”

 _“He’s definitely not enough of an asshole for Vile,”_ Oz quipped, their voice carrying a smug lilt.

…

That immediately died and in a blink turned to cold realization that they just insulted Damien fucking LaVey to his fucking face and he was about to punch their face in all the way down to hell for—

“Truth.”

Oz snapped back to reality. If their eyebrows weren’t attached they would have popped off their forehead. Damien was… there was a… smirk??? At what Oz said? Which, whatever, the demon wore his trademark prideful little smile all the time, but shouldn’t he be mad at a noob like Oz for saying that?

Their phone blipped a text notification. Oz swiped to read it.

 

Amira:: Relaaax. You’re doing fine.

 

Oz’s shoulders shrunk, and they kept their head turned down as they slowly looked up at her. Amira’s phone was laid flat on the table beside her, hand resting next to it. She regarded them with a gentle… yet knowing look. Damien didn’t know them well enough to recognize the signs, but Amira knew an Oz-freak-out in the making when she saw it. Oz returned a smiling emoji before switching back to the game. Though, after that they did try to only have it open some of the time. And they tried talking with Amira as much as they could to pull Damien out of his focus on his pokemans, too.

Dinner ended with a pissed off waitress for not telling her they were splitting the check three ways until after she brought it over. She didn’t yet know it, but it was about to be even more of an insult when the bills eventually transformed back into neatly ripped pieces of toilet paper that they’d _all_ used to pay.

While Oz went to the restroom to get the toilet paper Amira finally got around to a question she’d been holding back all night.

“So…”

“So?” Damien cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you _ever_ going to tell me who does your hair and makeup when you do drag?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, nerd girl.”

“Come ooon, it’s unfair! Let the monster share their phenomenal talent!”

Damien avoided all trace of eye contact. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“I don’t think a drag queen and a magician are the same thing.”

“Isn’t she, though?” He recovered with a fully-charge shield of arrogant bluster.

“You know… you got me there.”

Another question was forming behind her eyes, her lips started to shape the words to do her word-trickery to get him to tell—time to kill _that_ in the crib!

“SO OZ, RIGHT?”

(Smooth, Damien. Smooth.)

“Where the fuck did you even find such a ballsy little noob? Here I thought they were pure chicken-shit.”

It was Amira’s turn to smirk. She’d find out one day. For now, she’d humor him. “Oh they sure _look_ it, don’t they? Probably just one more shadow monster that gets startled by themself.” Amira snorted. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘looks can be deceiving?’”

“Uh-huh. Sure. You saying I’m supposed to believe _fucking Oz_ is secretly a badass?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Damien was skeptical as shit of that. But they _had_ turned an ordinary car chase into the single most radical escape from the cops Damien was ever part of. He was starting to get too damn curious about the little noob—ugh! But he was already so busy investigating the case of his mystery monster.

Both looked up as Oz walked back casually, both hands in their pockets concealing cleanly torn up strips of toilet paper. To be sure they were well out of chasing-range when the transformation spell wore off, the trio made a point to hurry their way out.

“Catch you later, Dames.”

“Later, nerds.” Damien nodded at the silent wave Oz gave him, before starting his walk back to his car. Yeah, the shadow monster struck him as the quiet type. The demon prince always laughed at those who said, “it’s always the quiet ones.” He’d tested that theory long ago… by beating the piss out of most of the quiet kids in school. He couldn’t remember if he’d included Oz in that little rampage. Maybe there had been a flaw in his methodology…. Nah! Oz was some kind of anomaly.

They had all the trademarks of a commonplace noob, and without a trace of style to boot. So where did these little hidden gems of actually-pretty-rad keep coming from? A notification for another call from his dad—the latest of many he’d ignored all through dinner—dropped down from the top of the screen, interfering with his attempt to capture another pokemans. He declined the call. Maybe if one of them called again while he was in his car he’d pick up. Maybe.

Out of sight of the restaurant and Damien, the next time Oz looked up at Amira they found themself almost hypnotized by her waggling eyebrows. Really, the way they practically danced on her brow was impressive. Though, the wide line of the smirk across her face made them suspicious.

_“Ummm… what’s up?”_

“You being awesome a heeeeeeeelll is what’s up!” She nudged their arm repeatedly with her own until they had to swat her away or be shoved off the sidewalk. “Lookit you go, making friends with Damien! _Day-mee- **eh-nuh!**_ Like, _shit,_ dude!”

_“H-he doesn’t think of me as a f-friend.”_

“Traded you his _friend_ code.”

(Aaand her eyes were back to their wiggle-dance.)

_“Y-yeah, for Pokemans Go. It’s h-hard to find other monsters who st-still play is all.”_

Amira knew that was coming. There was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Sad that one of her dearest friends’ minds always did this to themself, rationalizing all the genuine good things away. But that’s why her smile held, because she knew that shit wasn’t true.

“Let’s pretend for one minute I agree, ok, **Oz.** _Oooooozzz- **uh!**_ You’re missing the point!” Before Oz could ask for the point Amira stepped in front of them, putting her hands on their shoulders. “He. Is. Im. Pressed. With. YOU.”

_“W-wh… what?”_

“Oz, my darling child. I can’t begin to guess what that maniac uses to define the word ‘friend,’ and he deeefinitely thinks we’re both still losers. But—oh for crying out _loud._ What part of _Vera Oberlin_ complimenting us didn’t get the message through that you earned _mad_ respect from them _both?_ ”

That feeling was back, the one that kept happening around Damien that they labeled “anxiety” because what else could it be? Their core thrummed harder, uncertainty poured into every thought, and their stomach was as good as a sailboat in a stormy sea. If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it must be _all consuming anxiety disorders._

(That’s how that phrase goes, right?)

Their first impulse was to dismiss it, say that Amira was exaggerating to make them feel better. But Amira… she never played her mind-games on them, never tried her, admittedly artful, emotional manipulation them. She knew Oz didn’t like being lied to “for their own good.”

_“…y-you really think he—er, they’re impressed by me?”_

“I promise you. You’re not, you know, Cool™, but I guarantee you can officially approach Vera and Damien without being shot on sight.”

The two orbs arched into their version of a smile as the pair started walking again. This time the “anxiety” driven, quickened pulsations from their core felt… warm. Hopeful? Being off Vera’s auto-kill list was amazing! If a monster can manage that, they _should_ feel proud of themselves. But being off Damien’s made them just feel… happy.

“And hey, you what _was_ Cool™ and I’m really proud of you for?”

_“Hm? What?”_

She leaned in to whisper, “You got through dinner and didn’t stutter a _word_ talking to Damien.”

Oz’s eyes practically glowed. They hadn’t even realized.

\---

The Personification of Fear held one half of the snare drum. Their other hand touched one finger to the space below their nose. Brian watched from his bed, the only single in that room, as those thick white eyebrows slowly stitched together. Not a good sign.

“I’m boned, aren’t I?”

 _“No, you’re not… well, not completely. This is fixable, but mending spells can be tricky. And this much damage, it’ll require one more advanced than what they teach us in school.”_ They gestured to the full set as they placed the halved drum back down.

“So, out of your ballpark.”

 _“Hah.”_ A prideful smile curved the edges of their eyes. _“I said more advanced than what we learn from school. I didn’t say more advanced than I know. It’s that…”_ Their cheek muscles tensed and twisted in a wince. _“The components I’ll need…”_ The finger on their absence of a mouth curled until it was their whole fist pressed against their face. _“I’m trying to think of what class I can pretend this is a project for. I know we have the materials in our store room at home.”_

“No,” Brian almost barked in a hard tone, sudden enough to jolt Oz out of their focused trance. “Not with your father coming so soon.”

Oz looked between Brian and his drum set. _“B-but… the components can be an outright pain to acquire. Or_ expensive. _They’re honestly right in my house—”_

“Then we’ll figure something else out. Literally anything else. It’s not worth the risk.” The zombie gave them a dead-set glare.

_“Y-you sure?”_

“If you even think about it one more time I’ll smash my own drums into pieces no amount of magic can fix.”

Oz could have pointed out that wasn’t possible, but they chose now not to be that guy. Their eyes crinkled with a grateful look and the tension that had gathered in their shoulders at the mere thought of stealing from home hummed away.

 _“Hm… well, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of free time. Honestly the hard-to-get components will be easier for me. I can’t die in the environments where they’re found. I’d go steal them from shops, but high-grade magical components are…_ very _well guarded.”_

“By magic?”

 _“How’d you guess?”_ Oz snorted.

Brian pulled up his account on the FraMe app. “If you need to buy anything you can use this.”

He showed the phone to the embodiment of Fear. The money had been cut evenly between him and Vicky, even so it was no small amount. Oz’s eyes expanded and a high-pitched note chimed out of their mind.

_“The KGB really shelled out for that one.”_

“Wasn’t even top bidder.”

_“Let me guess. It was that Radioactive Orangutan promising crazy money to put his name on everything?”_

Brian was already nodding. “Half the time doesn’t even pay? Yeah.”

They pulled a small sized notebook out of their chest and jotted the number down. With the hand that held the pen, their finger was back on the smooth space of their face. Mostly speaking to themself, they said, _“I’ll write up a list, start going through it, hm… Kind of hard to say what we’re looking at for a time-estimate.”_ Their hand came away from their face to tap the end of the pen against the number they’d written. They were debating whether it was worth it to go after all of the components by themself. It would take longer, but it would let Brian save more of his own money. The whole point after all was to avoid having to pay what it would take to repair or replace the set.

“This week’s gig isn’t that big a deal anyway. Just another abandoned warehouse party. We’ll just cancel. Don’t bother rushing yourself, ok? You’re already saving my ass here.”

Knuckles rapped against Brian’s window. Both looked over to see Vicky waving on the fire escape. Being closer, the zombie got up to let her in.

“You help Amira with what she needed?”

“Yep. Their math was slightly off, that’s why the compound wasn’t having the desired effect. Should be able to hit an entire army with that stuff! Vera really doesn’t mess around.” There was a gleam of admiration in her giddy smile.

_“Think it’ll be an easy job for them?”_

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!”

Amira had already, unnecessarily, begged Brian’s forgiveness for not calling him in for the job. But experimental chemical compounds were Vicky’s field of expertise, and Brian assured her it wasn’t a problem and he was not at all bothered.

“So how much of the homework did you get through, Oz?”

 _“Aside from today’s stuff? Everything except the classes I have alone or you’re my only friend in.”_ Oz sat on the edge of Brian’s bed while the zombie stretched out on it. Vicky started pulling out homework sheets, figuring they’d all start with the stuff Oz needed to do. _“We were trying to put together a plan to fix up Brian’s drums. I’m pretty sure I can just do it with spellcasting.”_

“Super! How are we looking with that?”

 _“It’ll take a while,”_ Oz’s voice sighed.

“Ok, that’s fine, like… two days? ………Three?”

Oz sputtered and their form went static for a blink, splashing speckles of drips onto the blanket and carpet.

 _“Are you cra—”_ The high-pitched shriek of what sounded like sixteen voices ripped through everyone’s minds as Oz was struck on the temple by a Glitter Bomb ft. Hidden Rocks. It was aimed at Brian, but the gloopy shadow was in the way. The zombie bellowed a name over the jeers of “tattle tale” and the sounds of at least three people sprinting as he sprung up from the bed to chase his foster siblings down. Before Oz could assure Vicky they were fine, she had the mini first-aid kit out and was checking the cut. From Brian’s room they both could hear the yelling clearly.

A choked yelp told them Brian had grabbed one them by the collar of their shirt. But before the confrontation could get violent, a woman’s voice, different than Becky’s, barked a name and every pair of running feet fell silent. The woman demanded to know what happened. When she immediately received the “he’s lying” defense, she snapped for the young zombie to be quiet. Brian explained, only to be followed up by his foster sister’s staunch denials. Their foster mom didn’t put up with so much as one full minute of arguing between the two before laying down punishment on the girl. Cue insistences that wasn’t fair, being shut down, sent to sit at the kitchen table and tell Becky the rest of the names of the kids who’d been causing the trouble with her.

“Are they alright?”

“I don’t know, it _sounded_ bad,” came Brian’s voice as both zombies came down the hall to the boy’s room.

“Oz?” Brian’s foster mom asked. Ingrid was a bit taller than her wife, her decayed skin a grayish brown. “Is it deep?”

 _“I-I’m fine, honest,”_ Oz tried to assure everyone.

Vicky pulled her hand holding a patch of gauze away from their temple. Their black blood was drying around the point of impact, but the cut was already gone.

 _“Th-there’s nothing to worry about, it’s already healed.”_ They shook their head for emphasis but ended up spilling little glops of glitter glue. Seeing the mess, they froze, worried they would make more of a mess otherwise. _“S-Sorry. I-I can clean that!”_

She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself, Oz.” Ingrid looked them over closely. She had to wipe some of the glue away with the two remaining fingers on her left hand to get a good look. The cut was gone, but she was more concerned about the other side-effects of head trauma. “You’re not feeling dizzy, are you? Any lightheadedness?”

 _“N-no, ma’am. It doesn’t ev-ven sting.”_ That last part was a lie, and the way Ingrid squinted made them worried she could tell.

Still, she nodded, mostly accepting it, but none of the guilt was relieved from her expression. “That’s good to hear, but that behavior was still unacceptable. I’m so sorry she did this to you. I’ll make sure she apologizes before you leave.”

Oz started to stammer out that it wasn’t necessary, but Brian cut in with a grunted, “Good.”

Ingrid looked at her foster son with sympathy. “Until everyone settles down a bit you can ignore the open-door rule. I trust you all in here.”

“Thank you.”

She put an arm around his shoulders for a light hug. Any greater show of affection and he’d make his “not in front of my friends,” protests. Before walking out she offered, “Let us know if you kids need any snacks or drinks.”

“Thanks Mrs. Karloff,” _“Thank you, ma’am,”_ Vicky and Oz called across the room as she closed the door behind her.

Oz looked at the rainbow-colored, sticky paste on their hands. It was going to take a good long shower, and being honest a bit of magic, to get all the glitter glue out of their… _everything_ from their head to their shoulder on the right side.

“You sure you’re alright?” Brian took a closer look at the cut. Mostly he just squinted at it, barely able to make out anything on their skin other than the slight variances of gray in the glitter.

_“It’s really not that bad. It’s a little sore, but for once I’ve been eating well lately, so I’m healing up really quic—PUT THE BANDAGES DOWN.”_

Oz had suddenly caught sight of Vicky, who froze as Brian too looked back to stare at her. She’d stealthily been creeping over with a partially unfurled roll of bandages, held taught in her opposite hand. Why she always felt the need to encase them like a mummy any time any of her three friends got the slightest injury was beyond _all_ of them. After a moment under firm looks of Brian, Oz, and about a dozen glaring or giggling phobias, she surrendered and started to put away her first aid kit.

Oz settled the matter by telling their friends, _“Really, I’m glad it hit me instead of either of you—it hurt at first, but it mostly freaked me out. It healed in a second. I’m fine and I’m not just saying that.”_

Brian nodded. Oz had a point, however, he was still pissed at his siblings for hurting his friend. “I’m still sorry Andie is such a shit. And… for…” The zombie waved a finger motioning to the glitter glue.

 _“Yeah… thanks,”_ Oz sighed. _“Now, Vicky. What I was about to say was, are you absolutely out of your mind?”_ Their telepathic voice rang with a pitch that made the other two flinch. _“I’m an_ infant _of an eldritch horror, not a miracle worker!”_

“I just thought, you know, if you’re using magic it should be faster, right?” Vicky tried to force her voice to sound hopeful, even as she felt it dwindling.

Oz crossed their arms over their chest and their hip popped to one side.

_“We’ve talked about this.”_

Brian’s head flopped back as he let out a despairing groan. One that almost sounded like one long, continuous ‘no’—a sound that did not cease as his friends got started on _this again._

_“Spellcasting is as much a science as base-planar science.”_

“Non-metaphysical,” Vicky corrected them. “And I’m not convinced it’s a fair comparison when most magic can be summarized as ‘I want something, now I have it’ or an incantation.”

 _“That’s one of many terms for it,”_ Oz threw back. The ‘seriousness’ of their tone was more than slightly undercut by the rainbow goop splashed across their face. _“And you_ know _that while it depends on spell classification as well as the capabilities of the caster, the use of magic is almost never as simple as a snap of the fingers.”_ Oz snapped their fingers for emphasis. _“It takes as much work as the physical sciences to produce those results.”_ Slightly softer they muttered, _“Often_ better _results.”_

“You’re not wrong that the results can be better, _buuut_ in all my years I’ve found science is the vastly more reliable method.”

_“Science is just as subject to user-error as spellcasting!”_

“Yet, a botched experiment doesn’t have nearly the same potential for disaster as the rebound effects of a botched spell!”

 _“Tell_ that _to South Monstropolis!”_

(For the record, they’re still entirely without electricity. It is full-dark over there.)

Brian halted his continuous groan to put an end to Part 97 of the Magic vs. Science Nerd-Fight, brought to you by Vicky Schmidt and Oz.

“ _What they mean is!_ ” he cut in loudly, “it’s going to take some time, Vicky. There’s a lot of stuff we have to get and it’s not going to be an instant fix.”

“But! But our gig is this Saturday!”

“We already decided we’ll have to cancel. I was going to call it off after we got some homework done.”

“You can’t! We _have_ to play this weekend!” Vicky’s throat practically squeaked as she reached up to grab Brian’s shoulders.

“Well, it sucks but…” Brian shrugged, not sure what to say, not sure why she was getting so frantic.

 _“What makes_ this _show so important?”_ Oz had one bushy eyebrow raised.

“Because—” Before she got into it, she realized Oz wouldn’t know what she was talking about. The two had texted a bit, but this was the first time they’d been together since she had to leave that past weekend. “Brian, remember how I was talking to Liam for a while yesterday?”

“You mean the whole day yesterday, yes,” the zombie said flatly. Though, internally he _was_ fairly amused by her grievous understatement of the situation.

_“Woah, what?”_

“Well, our band came up, and he’s interested in to coming to see us perform, but he had to get off the bus, so he gave me his number, and I already texted him all the info, bottom line is Liam de Lioncourt expects us to play, and he’s going to be there, so we cannot cancel the gig! We _can’t!_ ”

Both monsters stared petrified at Vicky. In turn, she watched as the gears spun in their brains. To be fair, she gave them quite a bit to unpack. Brian was the first to speak the thought on both of their minds with a grunted,

“Shit.”

\---

“Good, so we’re all agreed on the rules,” Vera declared, looking at the monsters assembled at the table.

(No, we’re not entering the scene in the middle of the conversation. She opened the meeting with that. No one had even offered a “good morning” yet.)

“We are?” Brian grumbled, skeptical of what they’ve allegedly agreed to. Yet again, as his speech was barely more than a low grumble to everyone except his fellow nerds and Liam, he went ignored.

Polly pouted. “Do we really need rules? It’s gambling, how hard can it be?”

“I must disagree with my spectral companion. Rules are the foundation of society. For imperial order. If there aren’t rules, how will subjects know how to properly love their royal families?”

“You know, there _are_ people who live their entire lives without a monarchical dictator subjugating them and ordering them on proper expressions of love,” Liam scowled.

“Such poor, unfortunate souls they are, Liam. Thank you for keeping us all mindful of those who truly suffer in this world.”

Liam’s scowl shriveled in frustration. Unfortunately, Vera had to cut the banter short. They were on a schedule and the drug would wear off on the Librarian within minutes of the first bell ring.

“I appreciate it Miranda. However, what’s most important is we’re having these rules because I say so.”

(And really, does Vera Oberlin need any more reason than that?)

“What are these rules we’re supposed to have agreed to?”

No sooner were the words out of Vicky’s mouth that she was put under the critical stares of every popular classmate in that room. Every pair of eyes asked the same question, “who gave this nerd permission to speak to one of us like that?” Vicky didn’t waver under those eyes. Though… that didn’t mean she was unintimidated.

There was one monster who didn’t stare her down with condemnation aside from her two friends.

“As the Secret Betting Pool’s designated stenographer I would also like to know what these rules are.” As the vampire spoke, Liam clicked his ballpoint pen and aligned his notebook straight on the table before him.

It was worth noting, nobody appointed Liam to the position. He more or less called dibs by saying he was. More importantly, it had the side-benefit of distracting away all traces of wrath from the other monsters.

Vera gestured for Amira to give her something. The ifrit already had her laptop ready with the document they’d worked out together open on it. She slid it over, open for Vera to recite.

“Firstly, now that all the rules and guidelines have been organized we’ll consider bets from here on as ‘official.’ So if anyone wants to second-guess what they bet on at the first meeting, this meeting will be your last chance. Now, the first two are the rules we set at the last meeting.

Rule number 1: You can bet on as many ‘possibilities’ so long as they are not in conflict.

Rule number 2: Which Possibilities are in conflict with each other are decided at Vera’s discretion.”

It wasn’t that she was the type to refer to herself in the third person, that was so passé. This was an official reading of the terms and conditions, and those had to be spelled out clearly to avoid unnecessary conflicts… or idiotic lawsuits.

“Rule number 3: You may all engage in _indirect_ interference or _light_ direct interference if you so choose. I think we’re all invested in making this game more interesting. But if anyone breaks the secret to either Damien or Oz up front in any way including but not limited to telling them verbally, in writing, pictographs or any other form of communication you’re not just out, I will cripple your family’s assets, claim all you’re worth for my own, and kill you if I can, harm you if I can’t.”

The last sentence was hissed through venomous teeth—not a threat, a promise.

“Rule number 4: What constitutes as “light” interference as opposed to too much interference is decided at Vera’s discretion. Violations will be penalized by a fine to be added to the betting pool. Obviously I can’t be in all places at once to answer you if you have a question on whether your proposed interference is safe or not. So use your best judgement because I _will_ penalize you if I decide you crossed the line. Therefore, I suggest playing it safe for all your sakes.”

Everyone could definitely agree to that.

“Rule number 5: You _may_ engineer a scenario in which one or both parties, those being Damien LaVey and Oz…?” Vera momentarily trailed off. Did… did she even know Oz’s last name? The gorgon looked to Amira who only shrugged. Well, then, “— _Oz_ , might wind up in a situation where the secret can be discovered. But again, you may not yourself or have anyone else outright tell them. Nor may you force a revelation to happen.

Rule number 6: You are all bound to stop someone else spilling the secret if it’s about to happen and you’re nearby. Fail to do so and you forfeit all funds you cast in the pool.

Rule number 7: As a reminder, Oz is not to be harmed for the sake of this bet. Obviously, if you _feel_ like protecting their safety you’re free to do so. I don’t really care, that’s your own business. But do not _cause_ fatal harm to them, nor will you make anyone else cause harm to them.

Next, as you can see on the overhead,” She motioned to the whiteboard behind her. Amira had done well, compiling everything from the last meeting and the additions Vera had emailed her in the time since. The last thing Vera had charged her with was getting it printed to one of those clear-sheets used for the old-style projectors that were available for use in the library. Projected on the whiteboard was the official listings for everything they all could place bets on. “Several listings are marked in red font,” In fact, everything was perfectly organized in color-coordination. “Those mark Primary Eventualities.”

Oh shit, everyone simultaneously realized. This was Vera about to get very detail-specific and fucking it up could have unforeseen consequences that nobody needed in their lives. Everyone, besides Amira of course, grabbed out notebooks and writing implements, and looked desperately to Liam. The vampire rolled his eyes and nodded, submitting himself to sharing the notes he’d been taking since the very beginning so everyone’s records of the rules would be complete. For now, everyone just tried to keep up with what Vera was currently telling them.

“The ones marked in purple font are Secondary Possibilities. The others marked in blue are our various specific Possibilities. At the end of the game,”

Neither Amira, nor Brian, nor Vicky were quite sure how they felt about her repeatedly calling this a game, buuut the rationalization they all settled on was that this betting match was predominantly a joke on Damien, less a joke on Oz.

“—we will likely have multiple winners. Probably. The minor Possibilities will determine who earns the higher payout.”

As they currently stood, the Primary Eventualities were listed as: ‘Damien Realizes First,’ ‘Oz Realizes First,’ ‘The Reveal is Simultaneous,’ and ‘Neither Find Out. Ever.’

“Which brings us to,

Rule number 8: If you lose your bet on one of the Primary Eventualities, you are knocked out entirely. You are similarly disqualified if your Secondary Possibilities become _definitively_ _impossible_.”

That got the room tensed up. All furiously scanned the board for what they honestly believed or hoped would be the outcome.

“However…” Her suddenly speaking again grabbed their attention back. “We have one more.

Rule number 9: You CAN re-enter the betting pool if knocked out, _with_ Vera’s approval and at 5-times the entry rate. All detail-scenarios cost 2-times the original rate.”

Amira hid a smirk. She already knew these rules and details, having done all this work for the gorgon. Still, she couldn’t help holding some sly pride in herself. Vera had been practically fuming at not being able to figure out a better way to make this more profitable for herself. True, she was claiming 10% of the pool as Overseer’s charge. But she’d been getting worried about people being disqualified and getting disinterested too soon. With so few monsters, having them lose interest was decidedly very bad for profits. And Miss Oberlin had been all too grateful for Miss Rashid’s suggestion.

Given the eager looks on everyone’s faces, that they’d have more than one chance at the pool, Vera knew this had been an excellent idea. Few things got people more willing to drain their wallets like games of chance. Oh yes, Vera was more than proud of herself for organizing this gambling party.

“Now that that’s laid out for everyone, shall we start? Primary Eventualities first, we’ll go around the table.” She looked to their stenographer. Liam got up and found a dry-erase marker to write in names in the boxes next to each item on the list. Once he nodded back, indicating he was ready Vera looked to her sister beside her. “Valerie you start, and we’ll go around from there.”

The tip of the cat girl’s tail swirled behind her. “I say Damien’s got this on lock. He’s not making a bad run at the whole Private-Eye game. He’s far from on-target right now, but I think he’ll get it eventually.”

The slayer looked at Valerie with a deadpan expression. “You have way more faith in Demoni-dumbass’s capabilities than he’s due.”

“Oh yeah, Aaravi? And who do you think will figure it out first?”

“Me? Neither! They’re both moronic monsters who will meet their end before they can figure jack shit!” A spring-loaded blade switched out from one of the gauntlets on her wrist.

Vera rolled her eyes, absolutely faithless in the Slayer’s capabilities. Then again, she was absolutely faithless in almost everyone’s “Yes, well, I think I know what else you’ll be betting on. No surprise there. Just remember Oz is off limits for the duration of this bet.”

“I know, I know,” the Slayer grumbled, resting her chin in her hand.

Vera looked to the next monster around the table. “Miranda?”

“Ah, fellow classmates. So blind, you all seem. Fortunately for all making their decision after me to be granted my insight.” The mermaid princess practically glowed with a regal light… Or maybe that was the gently colored spotlights several serfs were shining down on her. “It’s as if you are woefully uneducated in the intricacies of a romantic plot.”

A look of ‘oh, so she’s still on this,’ crossed everyone’s faces in varying degrees. Some exasperated like Brian, some like Polly clearly getting a kick out of the romantic-angle the mermaid kept insisting on.

“Obviously,” Miranda giggled, “Oz will maintain this guise of innocence, too afraid of hurting their love if they unleash the horror within once more. Or worse yet! Shaming dear Sir Damien with their vastly lower social standing!”

Liam removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “Forget the unholy shadow abomination that is Oz. Your priorities are the real horror here.”

Miranda continued, unperturbed. “But then! In chapter three, the ruthless queen, hungry for the beauty she will gain by devouring Oz’s heart, forces their hand.”

Vera gave a sidelong glance. “I’m fairly certain we’re well past the third chapter of this absurd story.”

(Geez, fine, call me right the fuck out, then.)

“And that’s when Damien will realize the identity of his mystery monster!” Miranda gasped with joy at the tale she, herself, was weaving. “Then the romance begins in earnest!”

Vicky leaned toward Amira and Vera. “I thought the operative phrase was ‘shark-fuckingly’ whatever. I’m pretty sure LaVey’s interests have nothing to do with true love here.”

The ifrit and the gorgon covered their mouths to quiet their laughs. Miri’s romantic ramblings were ridiculous, sure, but there was no need to be so openly rude to her. Not when you could never be certain if her secret service were eavesdropping at any given moment. But if they thought that was ridiculous!

 “Ooo! Yas, boo!” Polly gaped in awe of Miranda’s story. “And it'll be with this tiger, who Damien and Oz really need to stop snooping in the business of, like, let the tiger live her own life! Yeesh, guys! Just let her be proud of her polyamorous relationships. Girl's got a harem of tigers and she rocks their worlds and that desert like the queen she is! Soon as they both get out of their own asses and realize how beautiful her luscious fur and luscious loves are. That's when Oz gets hooongry and does their whole, 'I WILL MAKE EVERYONE PEE THEIR PANTS YOU'LL BE SO SCARED' thing, and then Miri's right. It'll be the tiger sex that makes Damien realize who Oz really is while Oz sees it's been themself that Damien's had his shark-boner for all along. That’s me! That’s totes what’ll happen! I’d be willing to put money on that, you just watch.”

(Did she… did she just forget she’s in the middle of a placing a bet? They _are_ all putting money on this shit!)

The room held in absolute silence. Everyone was able to understand separate bits of information out of what she said. But… none were… entirely sure… what to make of the picture painted by all of those bits put together. A solid third of the rules laid by Vera essentially amounted to “X will be decided at Vera’s discretion.” It seemed like a good rule of thumb as far as this gambling crew was concerned. So, everyone looked to Vera for some amount of sense to be decided.

Oh, it was not a reassuring sign when Vera’s expression wavered in its certainty. “Yes, well, I’m as close to confident as anyone can be that I can extrapolate from what you said you mean to cast your vote for a Simultaneous Reveal as well?”

“Sure as shoot, boo.” Polly winked.

Vera stood silent a few moments. “…mm-mm. Nope. You lost me. I can’t even begin—screw it, Liam, what’s your bet?”

The vampire leaned on the side of his hip against the unmarked part of the whiteboard. “I’ve been waiting to say this. Valerie, I concur, Damien’s starting to zone-in on that curious to the point of near-obsession state he gets in. And that man’s curiosity can be a powerful force all on its own. However, while his track-record indicates favorable results in unveiling the ‘mystery’ of whatever he’s fixated on at the time, it’s not spotless. If he gets too frustrated in the past, he burnt down the building he was standing in—as he is want to do—and wound up back in jail.”

Valerie sniggered. “Harsh, Liam. That’s real harsh.”

“Is my assessment untrue?”

“No, just harsh.”

“That being said, I’m not entirely lacking in faith that the two will eventually unveil this secret. I simply think it’ll be Oz to discover it and they’ll have to tell Damien.”

“You know, I was thinking the same.” Vicky’s smile seemed, as if she felt guilty for what she was about to say. “Let’s not kid ourselves here, Oz is the more intelligent of the two.”

Not one head, monster nor monster slayer, did not nod at her very true statement.

“I would also, _normally_ assume it’d be Oz to wisen up and figure it out for Damien.” A long, regretful exhale drained from her chest. “But if I’m being honest, I think the secret’s more likely to get blown in some spur-of-the-moment complete accident. So I, somehow, agree with Miri and Polly, I think it’ll be simultaneous.”

Vera nodded, not revealing where she stood on the matter, but accepting the reasoning behind it as sound. “And you?”

She looked to the zombie beside Amira. With as flat an expression as he always seemed to have, a couple low syllables grumbled between his teeth, a harsh, airy sound hissing out of the decayed tear in his face.

“What?” She leaned in, turning her head so one ear was closer to him.

Again, the grumbles.

“Speak up!” she demanded, he ears straining to decipher his speech.

With one aggravated roll of his eye, he all but yelled, “NEITHER,” at the gorgon.

Vicky and Amira looked surprised at their friend. Not at the yelling, it happened sometimes.

“Brian,” the ifrit gasped in exaggerated astonishment. “Such little faith in your friend!”

“Damien’s an idiot and Oz has better shit to do than waste their time with the hyperviolent arsonist asshole. Come on, LaVey doesn’t have the attention span of a chipmunk. He’s gonna get frustrated and bored and forget it in like a week. Two tops. I’ll be swimming in all your cash by the end of the school year.”

Liam almost felt the need to assure Brian he was wrong on that last count, but as the zombie cared so little to interact with the demon, he supposed it was a moot point anyhow.

Yet again, those who weren’t exclusively Liam, Vicky, or Amira, were completely unable to make heads or tails of what Brian said. Apparently the last syllable was to prompt Amira for her bet, because she responded by giving hers and her own reasoning

“I’m actually with Valerie, here. I say Dames is all over this like bees on honey. He'll solve the mystery and tap our sweet li’l Oz.”

Vicky bit down on her snicker while Brian just scoffed. The others, too, found the thought humorous. Save for Miranda… who was unfamiliar with the phrase.

“And what say you, Boss?” Amira leaned back in her chair, looking up at Vera.

“Despite Damien’s occasional gifts of _unholy_ good luck and brief moments of cleverness, I don’t share your or my sister’s faith that he’ll be able to solve this one. Oz, on the other hand, is remarkably not unintelligent. I think they’ve got enough smarts. They’ll figure it out for Damien… _eventually._ ”

Truthfully, Amira couldn’t fault her logic. But this was where knowing Oz as a person gave the ifrit a better insight. A different perspective. True, Oz was a clever kid and with the grades to prove it. But, as previously stated, their mind is dead set on telling themself it was not Oz. And Amira was pretty sure that would work against the shadowy monster in the long run. In fact, she was betting on it.

This time, Vera had scheduled out and timed this meeting perfectly. They were able to make several cycles around the table to place bets. Before the bell rang, she outlined the guidelines for communicating bets outside of these meetings, as they’d probably become sparse from here on. But everyone was near completely satisfied with the potential scenarios they’d all described with their bets by the time they had to adjourn.

(Scenarios which will be stated in detail in later chapters. Mostly because it’ll be more fun telling it that way. Partly because the narrator is tired.)

As the gambling party disbanded they were all extra quick to leave, just in case the drug wore off the Librarian, sleeping soundly beside the doors, sooner than expected.

The nerd trio was quick to separate from the rest. While these hangouts with the school’s hierarchy of popularity were fly-too-close-to-the-sun levels of awesome, they were also fly-too-close-to-the-sun levels of terrifying. All were eager to break away, catch their breaths, assure themselves that, no, no, they were still all fucking losers. Amira was the first to collect herself enough to speak, but then, she also had something she’d been anxious to ask her friends throughout the whole meeting.

“Hey, have either of you heard from Oz?” She told them how she woke to find them gone. “They left a note, so I know they’re fine. It’s just… this one is kind of vague.” Amira pulled it out of her pocket, handing it to Brian as he stood closest to her. As he read it, she continued. “I tried texting them, but every response was just as vague, except these were all really short. Like, tiny fragments of a sentence. Which, you know, that child is a stickler for grammar. They almost always text perfect sentences. So, it’s weird, right?”

When Brian got to the end of the note, he nodded thoughtfully, realizing exactly what happened. The note was rushed, all out of context. Fortunately, Brian had context. The pieces of a description Oz did mention in their note were about one of the components for the mending spell he’d talked about with them. “Don’t worry about it, Oz is just in Hawaii. Volcano-diving for… uh, what was it called? It was like, ‘lava jelly,’ or some shit like that.”

The trio were silent for all of three more yards down the hallway, when Amira’s voice cracked like a whip,

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anything was glaringly awful, I probably needed to give it one more read-through. I'll do so and make edits accordingly as soon as I have time, stuff's just a little busy lately.  
> Thank you all for reading this long-as-sin chapter! You only have yourselves to blame, you encouraged me. So thank you for that, you lovely supportive li'l shits. Though I have to say, I personally love hanging out here in these mostly angst-free chapters. I'm enjoying them while I can. So should you.  
> If you want to leave a comment, PLEASE please do! I say it every time but here I am again, I love reading what you guys have to say about the chapters. And if anyone is interested, my Twitter is @MelissaTheDucky


	16. Quests and Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely nerds! Sorry this chapter took so long. I kept getting different kinds of sick over the past few weeks, so this one was really slow to write. I *am* better now, and thank you to everyone who expressed concern. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Also, if anyone has been looking for my Twitter, @MelissaTheDucky, as of a few days ago you're not going to be able to find that. I've changed my name to better suit my gender identity and wanted my Twitter handle to reflect that. You can now find me as @MarlowTheDucky (I know, such a huge difference, still a duck, don't ask.) Thanks for understanding. ^u^
> 
> I'm also going to take a moment to address one thing, I know how common it is for writers to suddenly drop a fic part-way through. Trust me. I understand. That is not going to happen here. This story, getting it out in writing has become such an ingrained part of myself, that stopping before it's finished will actually cause internal turmoil in the long-run and haunt me no matter how long I live. So, short of me suddenly *dying* this story is getting finished and posted. Really. I promise. It's going to happen. I can't NOT finish this. Like, if I die, I'll probably rise up as a ghost pissed off that I didn't finish the chapter I was in the middle of and haunt some bitch until they agree to ghost-write for me. (hehe. ghost-write.)
> 
> So that's that. Now,  
> Warning: Vivid gore and psychological torment

“Vicky, Vicky, Vicky—I am _agreeing with you._ ” Amira’s fingers flicked as they twisted the dial on her locker.

At the locker next to her Brian pulled out all the textbooks in his backpack and piled them up atop the stack on the floor of his locker. On the other side of him Vicky placed her books on the shelf and hung up her backpack on the hook.

“The Cross-Dimensional Fog Storm is an interesting event in monster history, sure. All I’m saying is Mrs. Gershwin’s lecture rambled on into five different stories about her wife before she even got to the first confirmed murder.” She clicked the latch up but before she could pull, the door slammed open. The only thing Amira saw clearly was the open mouth of the black bag that was then shoved over her head. She shouted and cursed but she didn’t get a chance to throw punches. Before her hands were up, they were captured in a zip-tie with an anti-incendiary enchantment. A hand wrapped entirely around her torso. Each finger felt like it had to be the width of her arm. As she started to kick, she heard the mechanical _whirr_ of what she safely assumed was one of Brian and Vicky’s gadgets. All three froze when they heard the assailant’s booming voice snarl the words,

“If this delivery is late I’m telling Miss Oberlin who’s responsible.”

The green and blue monsters relaxed. Oh. That’s all this was! Vicky looked up at Brian, a soft laugh on her lips and lightly bonked herself on the top of her head to say, ‘a-duh!’ The zombie shoved his weaponized creation back into his locker with a grunted,

“Hmph.”

He still hadn’t had a chance to test it on a Yeti-Giant Hybrid before. He wanted this to be that chance, but apparently it wasn’t his day.

The white-furred giant slung the ifrit over his shoulder. She was faced toward her friends as he turned away. They heard her say something that was heavily muffled, but the cadence sounded like a “see you later guys.” Both waved Amira goodbye as he stomped off.

(You know she can’t see you waving, right?)

Brian and Vicky made their way to the cafeteria. It would be the two of them for lunch then, right? Wrong.

They’d just gotten out of the line with their trays of food when Vicky felt a tap on her shoulder. The face that greeted her was that of a superbly morose Liam.

“I’m not saying you’re as smart as me.”

(And why would he ever say such a thing?)

“But I’m entirely done with the disastrous failings of this school’s ability to educate young monsters.”

Not far enough behind them for the vampire’s liking, Scott walked alongside Valerie toward an open table. The three heard him… “explaining” to the cat girl,

“According to math, Valerie, when a werewolf bites another werewolf, that werewolf becomes those fuzzy dice that hang from car mirrors.”

By the ungodly strength of her poker face, she did not burst out laughing in his face.

“Aaand… how do you figure that one, Scott?”

“Because I said werewolf three times. That’s werewolf _cubed._ Liam explained all the asthmatic to me.”

“You mean, arithmetic?”

“Bless you.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose so hard he nearly broke it.

“And I need to hear words out of the mouth of a monster with some measurable amount of intellect. Give me a solitary _ounce_ of hope in today’s youth,” the vampire groaned.

Vicky and Brian shared a sly glance.

“Always happy to oblige,” the small girl chirped.

With a hand placed on a respectful spot on her shoulder, he ushered Vicky to the farthest empty table from Scott. Brian watched for a moment. He hadn’t been invited… but he also hadn’t _not_ been invited. He followed at a leisurely pace. There were always four chairs after all.

With two wide open chairs and Brian’s hand on one of them, who would go for the perfectly empty, unclaimed one? Not Damien LaVey, that’s for damn sure. Brian had just pulled it out when the demon shoved his well-toned ass into the seat.

“Liam,” he snarled. “I’m fed up with this shit! Except I’m the opposite of fed up. I’m starving and the lunch menu is nothing but bland-ass slop!”

Neither of the other sitting monsters said anything, only stared between Damien and something he clearly didn’t even notice. He suddenly became aware of a low, rumbling gurgle in the absence of Liam talking _like he’s supposed to be doing._ Damien looked up to see the something he’d neglected to notice: a disgruntled zombie looming over him. The pallid white of his pupils lasered down on him. Damien leaned back, taking a relaxed yet revoltingly cocky posture with one arm over the back of what was and had always been his chair.

“Taking in the view, zom-bitch?”

The barely-still-flowing blood in Brian’s veins simmered. His knuckles whitened from how hard he gripped his tray.

 _That_ smirk curled the demon’s lips. “Eye me up much longer I’m gonna start chargin’ you.”

Brian’s eyes narrowed.

“Or punching you.”

Brian’s disgusted growl grew louder.

Over the past few days, Brian had reservations over the gamble concerning his shiest friend. And then Damien did—oh fuck’s sake, _name anything he does ever_ —and he remembered who the real butt of the joke was.

The grumbled words, “I’ll see you in class,” were understood by everyone except Damien. Damien, who genuinely had not a clue as to the problem he just caused. And his face showed it as he watched Brian leave.

He scoffed, “Don’t know what that lame-brain’s deal was.”

“Offensive,” Liam admonished.

In Brian’s throat, the low grumble continued, drowned out by the cafeteria clamor as he searched in vain for another empty table. It was too late. Almost everyone who had lunch this period was here now, and every table had been claimed. There were open seats at many tables, but almost none where he thought he’d be allowed to sit. Of those tables he would be accepted at, none had tolerable company.

Vicky watched him with worried eyes. She scowled at Damien for pushing Brian out, but he wasn’t looking at her. She was about to get up and drag him back to the open chair next to her, resolved to be a buffer between him and Damien’s bullshit for the entire lunch period if she had to. A voice calling out his name made her pause. At once Brian, Vicky, Liam, and Damien all looked toward the table where Polly knelt up on her chair. Or rather, she hovered slightly above her chair in a kneeling position.

“Brian! Briaaan! Briiian! Over here, boo!” Polly wildly flailed her arms over her head like she was trying to direct air traffic, repeatedly pointing at an open seat between herself and Miranda Vanderbilt. Miranda… who was… also gesturing for him to come over with a perfectly practiced princess wave. When Brian looked back at the group he’d been about to join _before Damien stole his chair_ , he knew what he’d see. Liam and Vicky with looks that understood, and Damien with a look that did not at all understand. Brian had turned so Damien could only see the torn side of his face, hiding the smirk on the other half of his lips. The zombie was still sure of his bet: that the lazy dumbass would throw a tantrum, give up, and never bother Oz again, much less fuck them. That didn’t mean he couldn’t milk this joke played on the demon prince for all it was worth.

“Since when the dickshit do Polly and Miranda hang out with fuckrot over there?”

Oh, Liam and Vicky knew since when. Dodging his question as deftly as a politician, Liam instead asked,

“Must you refer to everyone as some kind of fuck? You could at least make an attempt to broaden your vocabulary.”

Damien snarled. “I didn’t come here to listen to you talk shit, Count Fuckula.”

(At least that serves as an answer to your question.)

“I shouldn’t have to stomach this shit they’re trying to pass off as food—this is as bad as what we feed the damned souls in the torture pits!”

“Damned souls in Hell eat food?” Liam arched an eyebrow.

“Only when we want them to suffer.”

“That makes more sense.” The vampire sighed. “I still don’t see what you expect me to do about it. Though I, too, find the meals our tax dollars pay for… lacking to say the least.”

“But…” Vicky almost hesitated to ask, “But you don’t even eat food.”

“No, but a bad meal makes for a bad food pic on my Instagram.” He pulled up his phone to show her. “See, I’ve been saying I’ve been working on a ‘theme’ of inedibility, but truth be told it’s simply that’s all this school has given me to work with.”

“See! We both have a problem. And that’s definitely why I came to you about this, totally my plan all along.”

(Do you really think either of them believe that?)

“I don’t know how many times I can say this, but what do you think I’m able to do about it? I don’t run this institution. Believe me, if I did everyone’s outfits would have a minimum tastefulness requirement.”

“Then how do we _make_ the people who run it change that? Cause I already tried beating up one of the lunch ladies and all that got me was detention,” the demon growled.

“Of course that’s the first thing you tried.” Liam’s groan was accompanied by a firm, badly-needed massage of his temples.

“It’s what they get for being part of the system! Specifically the system that’s trying to feed me _crap!_ ”

“The two of you could cooperate on a petition to the school for a change in the lunch menu,” Vicky offered.

“Co-pop… coper-tate… cooperate…?” Damien seemed to struggle with the concept.

“You had me at petition.” Purpose gleamed in Liam’s eyes.

 “I don’t follow.”

“Don’t fret, Damien, I’ll handle drafting up the plans.” Liam withdrew a notebook from his messenger bag on the floor by his chair. “Now, I will need your contribution on a few things.”

To his credit, Damien kept focus on Liam’s attempt to explain the process and answered all the questions Liam posed to him for his input. He sometimes became exasperated with Damien for not understanding things he considered “basic concepts,” like “canvasing,” or “verifying jurisdictions,” or “not murdering people who don’t want to sign your petition.” However, Vicky adeptly spun each moment of aggravation so he could see this was an opportune moment to do what he loved best: ~~lecturing~~ educating. Though Damien was a less than ideal student, Liam. Was. Persistent.

Painfully so, for the demon.

With Vicky moderating, they even reached a compromise on the not-murdering issue. Liam heartily agreed when it came to those whose tastes were so inferior to theirs it made them unwilling to sign, _torturing_ them into compliance would be perfectly acceptable.

While that shenaniganry went on, Brian had strolled up to join two of the prettiest girls of their year. And yes. He did get stares of shock from the monsters around Miranda and Polly’s table. The girls themselves didn’t seem to notice. Then again, they were both thoroughly used to being stared at by their fellow classmates. From admirers they couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge, jealous enemies they couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge, and people cowering from the atrocities Miranda occasionally ordered, also whom she couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge. Brian wasn’t used to being stared at unless he was getting ridiculed for making a fool of himself in class, or as he liked to call it: being a competent student. But he also didn’t give a shit about the bewildered and shocked eyes on him.

So the zombie took his place sitting between two monsters he had no place being in the company of.

“Alright, Bri-bri, time to dish,” Polly said, dangerously excited. “Vera said we can add in new bets until our big secret spills or until it stops being profitable to her. Sooo~ come ooon! You know the little gloopy kid, you must have lots of juicy info on them. What can you tell us about them? Something to give us an edge in the competition!”

“Polly and I would be most agreeable to grant you recompence equal to the value of what you tell us.” The dainty flutter of her eyelashes was ever so slightly offset by the unexpected amount of malice in her smile. As if information lacking in quality or an outright refusal would also grant him equivalent recompense in the form of… whatever it was that happened to “disagreeable” citizens of the Merkingdom.

“We’ll show you our nips!” Polly gave her shoulders a shimmy while leaning against Miri.

“We shall do no such thing!” Miranda gasped with indignance.

“ _I’ll_ show you my nips!” Polly gave her shoulders a shimmy while maintaining a respectful distance from Miri.

“You literally flashed the classroom during your book report in second period,” Brian said, his voice and expression a prime deadpan. “Your nips have no value.”

Man it would be great if a few more people other than his few friends and teachers would take the time to understand the way he talked. The teachers, by the way, were _required_ to undergo training to attune their ears to the varying voices of different monster types.

“Ohmigawsh, fiiine, I’ll take care of the down payment,” the ghostly girl groaned.

Before Brian could speak his confused utterances, Polly hooked her thumbs under her strapless black top and pulled it up over her breasts. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a bra that day.

A deep pink shade was slow to rise in his cheeks, but when it did it sure was there.

“No… value…”

“Perfect! A deal’s a deal! Pay up, zom-B!” With a whisper and a wink Polly added, “Get it? Zom- _B?_ B is for Brian!”

Dammit, now he was actually had to give them something here. If it wasn’t two of the monsters in Spooky High actually capable of making his life hell if he pissed them off, he’d stare them down silently, finish his lunch, and leave early to spend the rest of the period in his favorite company. His own. Polly’s wrath was less of a threat. He actually had a hard time thinking of many moments where she got seriously angry. Usually it was someone like Vera getting furious and exacting vengeance _for_ Polly. But Miranda……… Miranda.

Brian wasn’t the kind of guy who gave away his friends’ secrets. Not for a pretty monster’s nips, nor anything. But he had to say something. Really, they didn’t want to know _about_ Oz. What they wanted from him insight into what he, as Oz’s friend, thought would be most likely to happen with the shadowy nerd. They wanted an edge for the bet. That didn’t have to be too personal.

“The thing you gotta understand about Oz is, they’re really good at magic. So, the secret will probably get spilled during some magical accident. There. Is that helpful enough?”

“Awh, c’mon Bri-bri!”

Brian looked to Polly, confused.

“Just tell us a little something. We won’t spread any of your li’l buddy’s secrets.”

“What? I did. I told you—god dammit you can’t understand me, can you?”

“No need to be coooyyy~.”

“I’m not.”

“He isn’t being coy, Polly.” Miranda delicately shook her head.

“Thank you.”

“He’s maintaining his silence out of dignified respect for the laws set by Vera. Such nobility, and from one of such common blood.” An awestruck blush graced the princess’s cheeks.

“What?”

“However, I must insist you divulge the information we desire.” Before Brian could blink, the middle tip of Miranda’s executioner’s trident pricked his neck, just above his collar bone. “We seek no interference in the bet. As such, I am certain you would agree we are in no violation of the laws.”

Brian took extra care to speak slowly and clearly. “Like I said, they’re into magic. But sometimes they go a little too experimental.” He internally acknowledged he was in no place to talk on that count. “If Oz and LaVey are going to find out at the same time, it’ll probably be some accident with a hyper-intelligence or perfect-memory potion.”

There, that was a decent misdirect, right? It was based in truth, that’s how the best lies work. Or so Amira kept telling him. For the love of whatever higher power actually listened around here, he prayed they understood him this time.

Miranda snapped her fingers twice. The executioner sheathed their trident and another serf stepped forward with a quill and scroll to take notes for her.

“Mmm, I see. Most helpful, dear classmate.”

Pleased with himself—also relieved that he wasn’t getting executed on the spot—he allowed a slight smile on his face.

“I had no idea Oz was a master chef!”

“………what.”

Polly beamed. “And host of their own cooking reality show!”

“That’s not what I said.”

With a clap of her hands, Miranda exclaimed, “Oh yes! And what a splendid suggestion that there’s a chance this could all be televised on said show. It never would have occurred to us if you hadn’t told us so.”

“Not even close.”

“You have been a marvelous help. All the while maintaining respect for your companion, and most importantly the laws. Such a gentleman!”

“Yeee-ah, Bri! There you go bein’ a gentleman! Catch ya later, gentle-boo!” The pair hurried off to find a more private location to discuss their bets in more detail. They wouldn’t want anyone else in the party overhearing them and taking advantage of their juicy information!

(If it makes you feel any better, that interaction _somehow_ earned you +4 charm.)

“HOW???”

Brian stared at the door they left through. He sat there as if under a paralytic curse as the chaos of the cafeteria raged around him.

He didn’t even notice when Vicky and Liam came over and tried to collect him for their next class.

“Brian? Briiiaaaan?” Vicky poked his intact cheek, checking for signs that his brain was still responsive. She was starting to get worried, but he still blinked occasionally, so he wasn’t re-dead. Maybe it was time to get out her portable body-scanner. The scanning process inflicted a great deal of pain, but really, wasn’t it worth it to weed out every potential ailment?

Damien growled in aggravation behind them. Vicky expected some irritating remark, but she saw he wasn’t looking at Brian. He was lookng around the lunch room. It was like he was scanning the crowd for something.

“Fucking seriously. Yo, Blue-nerd. Where’s your boy at?”

“My _boy?_ ”

“You know, Oz… _agh_ , fuck, no I didn’t mean ‘boy’ as in they’re a boy. I was just using the word as a—”

Vicky stared at him incredulously. When Damien noticed, he assumed it was just because calling them a “boy” crossed a line.

“Fine. I take it back. Where’s your _noob_ at?”

The real reason she regarded him with such a look was she was taken aback by the entire line of questioning altogether.

“You’re… asking… about Oz?”

“Yeah.”

“Oz…?” Vicky exchanged glances with Liam, but he, too, was at a loss for a good excuse. Did he know something? Was he close to discovering the secret already? “They, well…”

“Call me crazy, but I feel like I haven’t seen them in school all week. And not ‘cause I’m ignoring their noob ass. I’m actually looking this time.” Damien’s teeth clenched in a slight snarl, and his tail flicked sharply behind him in frustration.

Liam raised an eyebrow. “You’re _looking_ for Oz? Why?”

“I’ll be asking the questions around here, Liam!” He looked back down to Vicky. “Come on, Blue. Aren’t they supposed to be one of you losers who actually does the lame shit in school?” He gestured with his index finger at Vicky and Liam.

“You mean, a good student?” Liam groaned.

“A loser, yeah. That’s what I said.”

Liam let out a heavy sigh.

“So, isn’t att-… at-tent?” Damien growled, giving up on the word that escaped him. “Showing up. Isn’t that shit important to nerds?”

“Did you forget the word _‘attendance?’_ ”

“No one likes a know-it-all, vam-prick.”

Where other monsters would unrestrainedly break into a wicked grin, Vicky had well-trained her scarred, stitched lips into the politest mockery of a tender smile. “Oh, Damien, how little you know.”

Liam hid all but the faintest smirk on his own lips, well aware of the double meaning hidden in her words.

“There’s more to people than just stereotypes, and there are _so_ many things you don’t know about Oz.”

 “Ugh. You nerds keep saying that about them. Things like _what?_ ”

“You can ask them when they get back from their suspension.”

Damien’s eyes widened. Liam feared she gave away too much. But the sly, knowing look she flashed him spoke to her complete confidence that they were safe.

“Woah. So many monsters getting suspended lately. There’ve been over twenty since last Thursday. I mean, that’s about average for a normal week, but it’s barely been a _full_ week.” He paused to consider something. “But they only got an in-school suspension, right? Nothing too serious.”

“Wrong. Fully out of school, multi-week suspension.”

Damien’s jaw dropped. “Oz. We’re talking about fucking _Oz,_ right? Scrawny little noob. Wears yellow. Like, all the time.”

“That’s the only Oz at this school.”

“What. Did. They. Do.”

“Not telling you,” she sneered at the delinquent.

“You’ll tell me what I want to know, or I’ll gut you and stuff you full of dead possums!” he yelled.

“Why are you asking me? Go ask yourself. Not sure what you’re so _afraid_ of them for.”

“I’M NOT SCARED OF SHIT YOU POORLY-STITCHED DICKBAG.”

Damien’s yelling was enough to force Brian out of his seat. _Again._ The zombie trudged away, not even in the right direction of his next class, just anywhere that wasn’t here.

“Then you can get everything you want _from them._ ”

“When the fuck do they come back?”

“That is private information that you can _ask Oz_ if you really want to know.” She turned on her heel to leave the demon. Liam left alongside her.

“You know, I might think that was too great a risk back there. Telling Damien to ask Oz the details of their suspension.”

“Would you, now?” There was a lilt in her voice, a light, polite tone. A feint of curiosity.

“If Oz outright tells them, it could constitute a ‘Damien found out first’ scenario.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It would be. Unless you’re someone familiar enough with the monsters in question to count on _both_ of them being conversationally inept enough to talk each other in circles until they reach a realization together.”

The façade snapped in half as Vicky smirked in earnest, the wickedness in it unveiled.

“Well played.”

Vicky’s smile grew. Oh, she knew how good she was. She wasn’t the best at verbal manipulation, that was Amira’s suit. But after so many years together, Vicky had picked up a trick or two.

Liam looked back at Damien. The demon was tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, as if that would generate a better idea than what he had. His tail whipped behind him in ever-growing frustration. The vampire was likely reading too much into it, all the same he couldn’t ignore the brush of suspicion in his mind. Something about Damien’s attitude, his earlier questions. Liam decided to put it out of mind for now, but he kept a mental note of it.

\---

The rest of Wednesday and the remainder of the week were a close to quiet as it got for the Nerd Squad these days. Well, 3 out of 4. Amira made a couple more arson-runs with Damien. Brian and Vicky held the _worst_ practice sessions ever. With Brian literally using turned-over buckets they had no instruments until Amira joined. Even with her it was… less than ideal. They didn’t even have their bassist. Said bassist was having anything but a quiet time, racing to various regions of the globe and crossing into a couple separate dimensions, collecting everything they needed for the spell.

Despite how much time it lost them, on Wednesday and Thursday night when Amira was in her motel and starting to wind down for the night, Oz told her to summon them. The embodiment of fear and the ifrit would get ready for bed, watch an episode of a show or a few short videos, and make sure neither had to spend the night alone. Fortunately they planned ahead for each morning, plotting a route and utilizing a combination of teleportation spells and their unique fear-magic so they could get right back at it as soon as their alarm woke them.

The only exception was Friday night, when Brian and Vicky both got permission to sleep over Amira’s. With her taken care of in terms of company, Oz thought it was best if they kept working. The three protested this decision over the phone.

“I know you’re not even trying to suggest you neglect your own health!” Vicky reprimanded, staring down at her phone, sat the end of Amira’s bed.

“Get your terroristic ass back here,” Brian grunted from the bathroom where he brushed his teeth.

 _“Who are you trying to call a terrorist?”_ Oz’s voice shouted over the speaker.

Standing on a ledge barely a foot wide, Oz wiped the sweat off their brow with the hand that held the phone. Their other hand was busy clutching the ornamentation of the outside wall, keeping them from plummeting into the moat that surrounded the castle they scaled. They weren’t sweating from exertion, they were barely tired yet. It was simply that the moat was filled with lava, heat rises, and it was _hot._ With their phone back up to their ear they continued,

_“Because last I checked, I wasn’t the one who took out a power grid!”_

“The power’s been restored already, I don’t see why you have to keep bringing that up.”

Oz could _hear_ Vicky pouting.

“Oz.” Amira’s voice came through, sounding worried. “We’re just trying to make sure you don’t exhaust yourself out there. I know you can _handle_ the damage, but we still don’t want to see you badly hurt.”

Oz wanted to throw back a nasty retort, about how what she wanted didn’t matter. Instead they kept their mind quiet. They rested their forehead against the heated stone, their eyes squeezed shut to avoid any sight of the sky. It was day where they were, but if they focused, their eyes could still see the stars. Their alignment creeping ever closer into the next position that would allow their father to enter this dimension. When they couldn’t think of any words free of anger to say to her, self-loathing thoughts filled the void.

A mighty roar of the dragon flying overhead shook the air.

“A mending spell requires ingredients from a dragon?”

 _“Nooo. A_ superb _mending spell requires the tongue of a maiden_ guarded _by a dragon.”_

Amira chuckled. “Only the tongue? Could probably survive losing that. Gonna kill her anyway?”

_“Ah, probably. Feeling kinda hungry.”_

“You’ve been feeding enough to make up for expended energy during these trips, _right Oz?_ ” Vicky’s firm tone chastised.

_“I already ate three people today! Guys, I really am taking care of myself out here. I promise, I’m not going to make a habit out of pulling all-nighters. But if I want any chance at finishing in time, I have to. Just this once. I. Can. Handle. It.”_

Oz heard voices, but much softer. Mostly they heard Amira’s voice. When words became clear again, it was her speaking. From the sound, they could tell she took them off speaker phone. It was just the two of them.

“Are you at least enjoying your time away from Monstropolis? You know, far, faaar away from your house?”

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Amira.”_

She could hear the strain in their voice as they returned to their climb up the castle tower.

 _“My father’s might extends across dimensions. Running away from home to the other side of the planet wouldn’t only be completely pointless, that would sound silly.”_ They grunted as they pulled themself up another ledge with one hand. _“It would speak to a severely desperate state of mind, to the point of near delusion.”_ Their voice relaxed, letting Amira assume they made it to another relatively safe spot. _“Glad no one we know is that desperate to avoid family.”_

Amira laughed at their self-deprecating humor.

“You got this, right? No bullshit.”

_“No bullshit. If I fed frequently enough, technically I could go a decade without sleep. Though, I’m not sure how many countries have the population to sustain that. To be honest, I’m way more worried that even with an all-nighter I won’t finish Brian’s drums in time. Just… let him know that it’s not a guaranteed thing, ok? I don’t want to get his hopes up too high.”_

“Brian does not care about this one gig. Even if missing it does earn us Liam’s eternal disapproval for the rest of our unnatural lives, eh, bat-ears was going to do that anyway.”

As Vicky continued copying down the rest of the homework to keep Oz up-to-date, she silently hoped that Amira would talk them into coming home. It was hard to tell with only her half of the conversation, and she could barely hear that much. Amira was speaking lower and on the other side of the room.

Oz dropped down through the window, almost angry at how far that drop was. The windows were set a full ten feet above the floor. They could have punched through sooner and been in here already.

 “I think you can make it, though.” Amira heard panicked shrieks come through the phone.

Oz glowered at the princess. Sure, they relished her terror, but they’d only just gotten in. Was two minutes to catch their breath so much to ask? And here they were going to cast a spell, so she’d sleep through the whole thing.

 _“Fuck me for trying to be nice,”_ they muttered to themself.

“How many more items left?”

Shadows poured up from under her bed, grabbing her from behind and pulling her to lie back down on it. Strands of phobias gathered around her jaw and reached in, between her teeth to pry her mouth open like a spider-gag. They reached in and took a firm grip around her tongue.

 _“Five,”_ Oz said as the maiden choked and gaged.

There was a long tearing sound that somehow seemed louder than her agonized howling.

_“Four.”_

“See? You’re knockin’ ‘em right out!”

Oz slowly brushed a finger down the sobbing princess’s cheek, mesmerized by the sight of the thick, dark blood pooling in her mouth. As she started to choke on it, she coughed, making it sputter and bubble out down those delicate cheeks. Oz spoke only into her mind.

 _“nOw, wHaT tO Do wItH YoU?”_ they hummed. _“sHalL i LEaVe yOu SO tHat YoUR fAteD rEsCUeR wILl kNoW thEY fAiLeD? ThAt hE oR ShE dIdn’T mAkE It iN tIMe? OR shAlL I mAke YoU A mYth? tHe MySteRY oF thE vAnIshEd pRiNCesS.”_

She tried to shake her head, but every inch of her body was still held in place by those chattering shadows. Coughing the blood out of her mouth as fast as she could, she fought to find the breath to cry out, “no,” but it welled up as quickly as it was spat out.

_“I aGrEE. tHat DoES hAvE a nIcE rINg tO It.”_

On the other end of the phone, Amira rolled her eyes and held the phone away from herself. She didn’t need to hear _all_ the chewing. The faint sounds of it still came through, it was pretty loud. When it quieted down again, she put the phone back to her ear.

 _“So—”_ Their voice was dipped in and out, panting. _“Sorry… Got caught up in the moment.”_

With genuine gladness in her voice, she told them, “Honestly, it’s a relief knowing you’re getting the most out of this. Having fun getting to let loose?”

 _“Hah. Yeah. I actually can’t remember the last time I’ve felt challenged in a while. Physically challenged, anyway. This… this is fun.”_ Oz leaned back on the plush comforter and mound of pillows at the head of the late princess’s bed. Everything in the room was pristine, filled with things for the princess to occupy her time with while she waited for the dashing knight. The feeling of emptiness was overwhelming.

It sucked that to experience something like a real adventure they had to leave their friends behind. There were some excursions through dungeons that everyone could handle. But getting the tongue—this had been the easiest item to hunt out of all of them. The others had been way too dangerous for Brian or Vicky. Some place they had to go, Oz would have worried they couldn’t protect Amira either. _“It’s been kinda lonely, though.”_

Amira knew where their mind was going. “Don’t worry your precious little head. One day someone will come around who can handle a real crazy adventure with you.”

 _“You can handle most of the dangers this Earth can throw at a monster,”_ Oz said innocently.

“Not what I meant, buddy.”

_“…I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”_

Amira shook her head. “Forget it. I’m rambling. I’m tired.”

_“Sorry. I should let you all sleep.”_

“We all have our phones, they’re all fully charged, so you call any of us if you’re in trouble. Ok?”

_“I promise.”_

Amira tapped the speaker button again. “Everyone wish Oz a goodnight.”

Oz giggled at the ramble of their friends yelling goodnight from separate places in the room. _“Have a good night, guys! No watching the next episode of Eastplanet without me!”_

When they hung up, Oz shook out all the tension in their form, letting it vibrate out from their core, down their limbs. They rested a moment more, then glanced around the room. There was a valuable-looking chest in the corner. No doubt, ample reward for the princess’s would-be savior.

 _“I mean… if he didn’t save her, he didn’t really earn it anyway.”_ With freshly restored strength, they were able to lift all the heavy valuables and store them in their chest-cavity. They pushed it deeper in so it wouldn’t weigh on them so much. There was a conveniently placed rope hung up on the wall by the door. They noted a ladder in the closet. So that’s how she was told she’d be getting down. Wow, that made no sense. Fairytale royal families were weird. Not wanting to bother with that extra climb again, Oz picked up the bed and slammed it against a wall hard enough to make a hole to the outside. They had a splotch of phobias hold one end of the rope to the edge of the hole, as an anchor. They could disperse once Oz was down.

The embodiment of Fear descended at a leisurely, but much quicker pace. A roar from the far side of the moat caught their attention. At first they worried the dragon was turning its wrath on them. When they looked, they saw a small, armored figure battling it. And… wow, the knight was winning. Oz continued their descent. Nearing the ground, the looked again to check the progress of the fight. Oh wow! They actually won! The dragon’s head had rolled several yards away from its neck. The proud knight whistled, and a magnificent white horse came out of hiding to gallop over to the castle’s entrance.

As the knight rode out of sight, Oz made it to the ground. The phobias released the rope and it fell beside them. Oz picked it up and tossed it into the lava.

 _“Damn. That_ really _blows, pal.”_

Before they left, Oz eyed the dragon corpse. They didn’t need it for their current spell, but dragon parts were really valuable. And useful. Why should all that go to waste?

\---

It was two in the afternoon. There were mere hours until their gig. No word from Oz.

Brian groaned as he trudged up the stairs after Amira and Vicky. “Can we not? It’s Saturday. My foster siblings are worse than ever on Saturdays.”

“Nooo, I heard you on the phone.” Vicky beamed with a knowing grin to say, ‘nice try.’ “Becky said almost everyone’s going out for the day. Your apartment is virtually free.”

“Virtually free isn’t free.”

“It’ll be quiet for once.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to look at the shit-heap of my drum set.”

“Even if we don’t make it for tonight, Oz is still going to fix it,” Amira assured him.

“Yeah, I know, and they make it so good it’ll be like nothing happened but that’s a _future_ thing. Right now, it’s a trash heap.” Brian kept his hands stuffed in his pockets. Even when they reached his floor, he refused to withdraw his keys.

“But if Oz is going to make it, they’re going to have to come here. So why not hang here for a bit? Give them a way to fast-travel to your drums? Save them some time? They’ve literally been working day and night for this spell.”

Brian only gave her a low gurgle, pissed that Amira was making too much sense for him to keep fighting back. He pulled out the key and crammed it in the stupid lock.

“Good afternoon, Brian!” Becky called from down the hall where she lounged in the living room with a book and a mug of tea. Outside school days, it was a rare opportunity that the apartment was this quiet. And those days were reserved for cleaning and taking care of everyone. These rare free weekend days? Those were reserved for quiet reading.

“Hi,” he groaned back.

In all fairness, the apartment _was_ almost silent. Music came from one of his foster brother’s laptop in one room, but it wasn’t very loud. The few who’d opted out of the “extended-family” adventure mostly were doing homework, or relaxing and enjoying their Saturday quietly like Becky was. Brian eyed his door with slight suspicion. He figured it would have been left wide open. Then he decided he really didn’t care. If there was a booby trap, he’d take whatever hit him. Nothing now could be as bad as that day he came in to find his drums.

Brian’s eyes went wide. His mouth clamped shut in a tight line, because this time he found a disheveled Oz in his room. Their eyes arched in white lines, conveying a smile.

 _“Ta-daaa!”_ They sang, making a grand gesture to a fully restored drum set.

Three of his non-asshole foster siblings threw Glitter Bombs (ft. Exactly Zero Rocks) at the walls above the door so glitter and confetti would rain down gently on him. Amira and Vicky beamed behind him, the ifrit shouted a cheer.

Vicky patted his arm. “Oz got back this morning. They’ve kept us updated and told us when to bring you over.”

Becky walked down the hall to join them. Brian looked up at her, his face still frozen in place.

“We wanted to surprise you.”

Walking closer to the drumset, he crouched down. His eyes scanned the drums, scrutinizing every detail. Sure, it was all grays to him, but he could tell if there were remnant cracks. Cracks? Please. There wasn’t so much as one chip in the paint.

 _“S-so… um…”_ It was hard for Oz to read the zombie’s face, his expression was so still. _“Did the spell work alright? Are your drums as good as before?”_

Abruptly, Brian stood and yanked Oz into a bear-hug. They jolted, caught off-guard, but the overwhelming gratitude was amply conveyed by how hard he squeezed them. If they were the kind of monster who needed to breathe, it’d be a problem. Good thing they weren’t. Cause pride and happiness at doing a good job and helping a dear friend washed over them, and needing to breathe shouldn’t get in the way of a good hug. They had to let their shadowy limbs elongate a little, giving them odd, unnatural proportions, but Oz managed to reach out to hug him in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was as fun for you to read as it was to write. ;D
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Things that are also appreciated: passing this story around to other nerds who might like it.  
> You monsterfuckers are all lovely and with any luck, I'll remain healthy enough to not keep you all waiting so long for the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you! <3


	17. Not That He's in This Chapter, But Scott's Definitely the Kind of Guy Who Thinks a Warehouse is a Building That Becomes a House During the Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that anyone except Vicky really sings in this chapter, but this is my post of my headcanon singing-voices for the Nerd Squad:  
> http://quintessencemeister.tumblr.com/post/181062695465/player-character-the-band

It was a good thing a majority of monster-types had naturally or synthetically good night vision, because whoever the fuck was in charge of lights in this joint was a good-for-nothing screw-up.

Sure, at first you might think the one who set them up was angling for that classic “poorly lit warehouse” atmosphere. That _was_ what this improvised venue had been set up in, after all. But look at this shit! Random corners were bright enough to make monsters weak to sunlight avoid them. All the while important spots— _like the god damn bar_ —were left so dark the barmanu bartender already had to knock back three angry teens with shotgun blasts to avoid fistfights. All because a few of them were getting the wrong drinks.

(Oh calm down, they were all immune to regular gunfire.)

Brian tapped out a beat on his knees, going over that one song he hadn’t nailed to mechanical perfection yet. His drums, sublimely repulsive with the green paints in the design glowing almost neon, provided a barrier between him and the rest of the world. He wore an old black top with three wide, diagonal tears exposing some of his chest and had the sleeves ripped off. He hated the dark green plaid capri pants Vicky had forced him into. So what if they were baggy, and comfortable, and that fact that they only went just past his knees made them perfect for the warming but still cool spring nights. She tried to rationalize the pattern was all in grays to him anyway, but where did that help when he hated the pattern itself? Her final excuse was that all his clothes were ruined with rainbow glue and Oz just so happened to have these safely in their chest cavity. This was a plot contrived by her and Amira and he _knew it!_

Worst of all, they dragged Oz into their schemes. How low. How typical.

The thin, shadowy monster was quadruple checking their fraying shoulder strap. They knew they should have gotten a new one before this gig. There’d been plenty of time before their material-hunting excursion, they should have remembered. They’d barely remembered to change out of their school clothes before leaving Brian’s apartment. Even then, that was mostly owed to Vicky for pre-packing the yellow hoodie they’d bought last weekend along with faded, light-gray jeans. Oz was sure Amira and Brian knew they were definitely a pair of Vicky’s pants that Oz was too embarrassed to admit how well they fit them. And they appreciated nobody was dickish enough to call them out on it. Stupid short, skinny legs. Maybe they should think about changing their form. Just stretch it out a little. They’d been worrying they looked more like a kid than they thought. But what if they messed up the proportions and only made something awful looking.

Oz yelped as something slapped them in the head and fell over their face. When their frantic fingers managed to pull it off they saw it was Amira’s jacket. They looked over at her, now only wearing her red crop-top, the fabric crisscrossing and wrapping around her chest, and black jean shorts over red fishnet stockings. She stuck her tongue out at them.

Oh. So their mental freak-out was obvious. Oops.

They gave her a sheepish look, half apology, half thanks for pulling them out of it. All they got in return were more silly faces. Almost an interpretive dance of expressions telling them to quit apologizing and cheer the hell up. Oz was pretty sure that was the message. At the very least, it was enough to draw a giggle out of them.

A normal asshole would do a mic-check by, you know, tapping it, saying something along the lines of “testing, testing, one two, one two” or the like. Not this asshole. Because _this_ little blue asshole decided the best way to test the mic was drawing the biggest breath her lungs could take and shredding everyone’s eardrums with the most riotous screech her vocal cords were capable of.

The mic was indeed working.

For someone with a voice that could turn heads at a Scandinavian metal festival, carrying a low crackle of electricity, the outfit she’d donned was pretty tame. The oversized denim vest was old, but well-kept. The oversized blue and white flannel underneath it was baggy but not comically so. Her maroon, platform Doc Martens let her pretend she was tall. The closest her clothes got to scandalous were her navy jean shorts, and even those were pretty modest by the standards at Spooky High. But by her mother’s standards, if she saw her delicate little girl now, it would be another lifetime of disapproval _and it fueled her._

Vicky’s scream pealed, demanding to know if they were ready to fucking rock! Not one of them understood her, but they howled back all the same.

 Good enough.

And fucking rock they did.

They weren’t flawless. Only Vicky and Amira had gotten in any solid rehearsal time. Brian had been deprived of his instrument until mere hours ago, and Oz had been busy all week. But they made it happen. Vicky decided she’d bring her keyboard to broaden the list of songs they could choose from. While Oz had been gone, the rest of the band worked out an “easy” set. They chose pieces everyone felt they all knew well enough… even if that meant those songs genre-hopped quite a bit. In all honesty, their songs tended to bounce through different categories in every show they played. Though, usually the difference when they shifted genre wasn’t so… stark.

All four had been crazy nervous about how the audience would respond to their unorthodox set… but what part of “fucking rock” did you not get?

(I said it _twice_ for emphasis!)

Nobody gave a shit. Everyone jammed to something. If they got too bored, they drank enough of something. It wasn’t a large crowd, nobody was playing for fame here. That’s not what this night was about. After one last song, and then another one last song, the crowd felt they’d been given an awesome night.

Good. Enough.

“Thanks for coming out! It’s been a blast. Everyone get home safely—be the murderer, not the murder victim!”

There was a solid cheer for that. Not one that could qualify as loud. Though, not bad from a shambling, progressively drunker crowd of barely more than one hundred. A few bellowing, orcish hollers and a banshee’s screech were their applause as the band made their way off stage. Vicky flailed her arms, waving at everyone as she walked backwards following the other three.

A monster with fleshy wings, a wide, barely-hinged jaw, and long bat-ears glided down from the rafters to take the microphone.

“Let’s hear it one more time for Player Character!”

When the howls dwindled she went over some boring shit she forgot to mention at the beginning of the show. Anyone sober enough to listen laughed it all off. Everyone knew it was obligatory bullshit “just in case” the party got busted so they could pretend they attempted to be legitimate. The only bit of any interest was her encouragement for everyone to drain their stock of alcohol, as nobody running this sideshow had a liquor license and all the booze was technically evidence. That was hardly a problem for a crowd of adolescent monsters. It was Saturday. Nobody was going anywhere anytime soon.

(If you’re questioning whether that’s how the law works, I just got emergency exit protocol read out to me by the sister of Batboy! It _is_ , for all you know!)

One by one, Player Character pushed back the black curtain and hopped down to what constituted a “backstage” in that place. There were no stairs, only the edge of the stage and a marginally secluded area behind some more curtains. Vicky leapt off the ledge, feet kicking up behind her as she screamed.

“We KILLED IT!”

Oz’s form jolted at the manic Frankenstein’s monster that just jumped into a collision course with them. They still had their bass guitar in their hands and had to extend a few extra limbs to catch her before she tackled them both to the cement floor.

“Damn straight, we did!” Amira shouted as she high-fived Brian so hard his hand popped off his wrist. Not missing a beat, he caught it mid-air and stuck it back on.

(Ehhh, give that a half-turn clockwise. Slightly out of alignment there.)

Ignoring everything the narrator says like some omniscient voice only audible to some unknown party outside a wall of everyone’s comprehension, Brian did not heed the advice given.

Oz’s laugh bounced through their minds at how Brian gave no fucks about his casual dismemberment. Their smiling eyes shimmered in the dimness.

_“Your drums looked so cool under the lights up there.”_

Brian pushed his facial muscles as best as he could to widen his smile. Oz was good at reading his minimal expressions, but he wanted all the appreciation he felt on full display. Though… damn, did that not look right. Decades worth of atrophy to the nerves did not make for a pleasant smile.

“Couldn’t have happened without you.”

_“Oh, stahp!”_

(Seriously, please stop smiling.)

Oz’s giggle cut short with a squeak. In a blink they found Brian’s face was suddenly inches from their own. The zombie said nothing. He didn’t even give his customary grunts of displeasure. It was surely imagined, but it felt like even the sounds from the remaining crowd had gone silent. His eyes were as grave as a headstone.

“I will not stop.”

There was a beat of shy silence while Oz was forced to accept defeat and accept the gratitude. But it was short lived, because Amira snorted behind them.

“Pft. You totes just squeaked.”

 _“No I didn’t!”_ they whined.

Brian gruffly ruffled their hair, nodding his head. “You did though.”

“Definitely did,” Vicky added as she started packing away some of their lighter equipment.

 _“You’re all rude.”_ Oz’s expression withered at their friends’ ruthless betrayal.

Amira looked over her shoulder to Vicky. “Think Liam will have a compliment for us for once in his afterlife?”

“If he does, I’m pretty sure it’ll be the first in his life, period—” Vicky cut herself off, gasping as she saw Oz.

Oz’s body spasmed, their back snapped into sharp arch as their entire form thrummed harshly, the vibrations generating an aberrant trumpet that called through them. Amira, Brian, and Vicky all shared the same look as their stomachs plummeted. Not from the panic that crept through them like a poison injected by that sound. They were all used to that part of Oz. No, the trio’s real fear was of recognition—every one of them knew that sound. Fear Itself had barely let themself get steady, the shakes still twitching in their limbs, before they forced their arms to hurry up, grabbing at too many things at once.

 _“Shit!”_ Oz chanted the curse over and over in a murmur as their hands fumbled to simultaneously yank their hoodie off and pull a thick, black fabric out of their chest-compartment. _“No! Dammit, my phone!”_ They almost dropped the fabric while they frantically patted their pockets.

Vicky ran up to them. “Oz, honey, here!” She took both their hands in hers to steady them. Still, they trembled. She pulled the hoodie over their head and draped it over her arm. Then reached into the front pocket of it and took out their phone. Oz’s shoulders sagged with some slight amount of relief. “We’ll hold onto these for you, alright?”

They nodded.

After putting it in her own pocket, she handed Brian the hoodie and took the fabric from them—a heavy, hooded cloak with a yellow sign embroidered over their forehead—and draped it around their shoulders. She pulled the hood up, brushed off some dust, and smoothed out a few wrinkles.

Their arms buckled as the vibrations blared through their body a second time. Their eyes scrunched tightly as they winced from the discomfort, but this time they’d been expecting it. And though the vibrations resonated at a frequency hard enough to be painful for Vicky, almost burning her palms from the friction, she held fast, squeezing her hands around theirs. It took all her efforts to not show any of that pain in her face.

“At least we got to play our show first, right?”

Oz’s smile was weak, only able to muscle the faintest traces into their features which were obscured in the shadows cast by the hood, but it was earnest. _“Right. We w-were so fucking a-awesome. Even if you h-had to be a jerk a-and wear th-those shoes.”_

“I like these shoes!”

 _“A-and they m-make you t-taller than me!”_ Oz tried to squint at her, but the smile was too playful in their pale eyes. They looked up when they felt a big hand on their shoulder.

“We’ll see you soon,” Brian said to them, his voice as confident in that as he was the Earth revolved around the sun.

“You got this!” Amira added with a waggle of her eyebrows, “ya little yellow noob~.”

Oz cocked their head to one side. _“Y-you’ve been hanging o-out w-with Damien a-again, h-haven’t you?”_

“Oh, my dearest Oz, you have _so_ many stories to look forward to soon as your father leaves again. I got shit you haaave to hear!”

_“C-can’t wait.”_

Oz let themself be pulled into the one last hug Vicky had for them. There was the faintest crackle from her neck-bolts. When they held her this close, Oz’s acute sense of touch could feel the faint hum of the electric charge, coursing through her muscles, keeping her animated. They shapeshifted the necessary physical components to process the sense of smell.

(…do you just forget to have a nose sometimes?)

She smelled like a rainless thunderstorm. A _sane_ monster would be worried about getting electrocuted on contact with her. But sanity wasn’t Oz’s “forte,” and after nearly a decade and a half, nearly all the time they’d lived in this dimension, Oz had come to associate these sensations with comfort. Even if at times it was only by a little, they instinctively relaxed.

Brian and Amira enclosed them in a group hug. Standing behind Vicky, Amira heard the soft whisper of Vicky saying a few last words to Oz. This time, the goopy shadow monster anticipated the next call before it hit them. They gave a nudge with their shoulders and their friends didn’t hesitate to step back from them, despite their reluctance to let them go.

 _“S-s—…”_ Oz hissed at curse at their stupid, stammering telepathic voice. _“S-see you gu-guys l-l-lat-ter…”_

All three monsters wanted to shout last words of encouragement to them, but that final call blasted the air through the warehouse. It reverberated straight through the core of every monster, rattled the beams of the rafters, shook quite a bit of loose rubble off balance. One monster made of pure goo was so affected by the vibrations she puddled into pure gelatin that took her several minutes to reform from. The falling rubble struck a few, flattened one, and only two never got up from it again.

As the sound began to fade out, Oz’s form became something more of a concept than a physical entity. The concept of Oz collapsed, slurped inward, as if pulled into a singular point. Then they were gone. Collecting themselves faster than the rest of the occupants of the makeshift club, Amira glanced to the frizzy-haired monster beside her.

“What did you say to them?”

“A little extra advice.” Vicky shook her head. “I don’t know, it wasn’t much. Just whatever I could offer them.” Her shoulders sagged, her voice dropped the chipper tones. Not such that it sounded sad, or forlorn. Simply, not very young and fairly afraid. “For all the good that’ll do against an Eldritch Outer God.”

Amira nudged her shoulder with her arm.

Brian’s voice was firm as he looked down on the temporarily-second-shortest of his friends. “Anything is better than nothing. And you know they love you for it.”

A familiar voice cleared his throat behind them. The trio twisted their heads around to see Liam, who’d just stepped around the impenetrable barrier of a single orange cone marking the boundaries of the backstage area.

“Tell me those sounds weren’t Oz about to strike out for another rampage, were they?”

“Oh-ho, no! No, that was, you knowwww…” Vicky tried to brush his concerns away with renewed vivacity in her voice. Only Brian and Amira noticed the false notes in her joyful attitude. “Oz just got a call from their dad.”

Liam eyed her with supreme suspicion. “That was a phone call?”

“…………yes.”

For all the merits she’d been garnering with him, the vampire now was uncertain that he’d believe her if she told him the sky was blue.

“Your prejudicial insinuations about Oz are not appreciated by the band,” Brian grunted.

Amira back her boy up with a critical glare down her nose at the vampire.

“Oh, no, of course they’re not,” said Liam, his voice sopping with more sarcasm than should be legal. “Pardon me for still getting hit with flashbacks from their last outburst!”

The ifrit and the zombie squinted, but… Amira’s lips pulled taught in the shabbiest mask of “you definitely do not have a point there.”

Because he kind of did.

Brian gurgled disgustedly, refusing to concede.

He shoved his hands in his pockets before walking out towards the bar. Before turning around that cone, he looked to Vicky and then Amira, who in turn told him their drink orders. The zombie tilted his head, looking at Liam. He realized he was being offered a drink.

“That brandless synthetic blood alternative will do.”

“They have those at this dive?” Amira looked honestly surprised. This wasn’t any kind of… “established” establishment. Technically what the warehouse had set up didn’t qualify as a full bar. It was just a looot of booze. “Most places like this don’t even bother with different species’ bloods, they just have regular blood.”

(“Regular blood” is basically the vampire equivalent of “mystery meat.”)

“After my campaign of crashing shady clubs and parties to conduct my own thorough investigations, everyone in this city knows to carry SBA’s. I will not tolerate my exclusive parties exercising policies of non-inclusiveness.”

…

(…)

Yeah, no, not even the narrator can think of a snappy quip for that one. In fact, the narrator thinks Brian has the right idea: not bothering to react, turning around the corner, going to get a a few drinks, and carrying on with the remainder of the chapter being written in an inebriated state.

Mm, wait. That last part might just be the narrator.

“Aaaanyway, Liam,” Vicky gave up trying to think of a smooth pivot to the question sizzling in her mind. “How much of the show were you here for? Did you at least make it in time to hear Scary Deer?” She puffed out one cheek as she admitted with some embarrassment, “I tend to put all my favorite songs at the start of a show.”

Liam gave Vicky a frown that Amira couldn’t quit pin. She tried to think back to the chart Miranda had shown her. It was like his disapproving frown, but it wasn’t quite. He almost seemed to physically scoff at the fact Vicky had to even ask that.

“I didn’t miss anything. I was here for the entire show.”

“Thought you were always Mr. Fashionably Late.” Amira teased.

“There’s hardly a purpose in being fashionably late to a concert where, firstly, the point is to see the performance, and secondly, no one in attendance is taking note of when I arrive anyway.”

Well he clearly missed the point where Amira was just trying to engage him in a playful joke and decided to be all serious.

“Besides,” Liam looked on Vicky with probably the most subdued version of a playful expression in the history of monsterkind. But in the history of de Lioncourt, it was downright giddy. “It would be unfair of me to deliver my review without seeing the performance in its entirety.”

All the enthusiasm she’d channeled through the show came beaming back brighter than the stage lights.

(Which maybe wouldn’t be the case if that fuck-brained _lout_ had done their job right!)

Even if his review absolutely tore them apart—which she really, _reeeally_ hoped it wouldn’t—she was excited to hear it and have this kind of discussion with him again.

Amira squinted at Liam.

What the hell was that face? _Both_ their faces?!

Not only did this not register on the Liam Frowny Scale, but by god Amira felt like she would be smote on the spot if she dared to call what was on his face a _smile._

Vicky, though—ohhh, Amira knew her girl, Vicky. The little walking blasphemy against god and nature grinned to outshine the sun, but the smile stretching her cheeks had a gentler glow. A sense of ease Amira usually only saw reserved for herself, Brian, and Oz.

“SO?!” The overenthusiastic sound bite was cut off by the reanimated girl so abruptly it barely registered in her friends’ ears.

Amira bit back a cackle at how poorly her friend was containing herself. Barely.

With a deep breath, Vicky got her rampant enthusiasm in check enough to try that again. “Sooo~? Whatdidyouthink!?”

It was a good attempt.

“I found the concert exceptional.”

Vicky gasped, her smile carrying more glee than one dimension alone could carry.

Amira leaned back, pondering in no joking terms if she was talking to a skrull.

“You did!?” Vicky chirped.

Brian returned with everyone’s drinks balanced on his arms, steady as rocks. His deadpan face expressed ever so slight hints of curiosity at Vicky’s sudden, though hardly unusual overexcitement.

“Of course I did.” Liam nodded his gratitude to Brian as the zombie passed him his beverage. “Your unpolished performance was so obvious,”

After he popped the cap off with his teeth and spat it on the ground, Brian drained his beer, trying to drown the all-consuming need to die again.

“I’m sure the greater portion of this mob were too witless to pick up on the exquisitely subtle message you were conveying of not needing their immaterial approval.”

Beer spat out the hole in Brian’s face as he almost choked. It jetted over Amira, but he was so tall it missed her face entirely. Instead, it ignited on her hair and a plume of fire bellowed like a flamethrower. She shot him a look, but Brian was staring at Liam, dumbstruck. He must have put his ears on backwards because he’d been sure Liam was about to tell them they were trash and everyone in school would know by Monday. But no. That was… what he just said, that _was_ a compliment, right? A contrived, nauseatingly hipster compliment, but… fuck it, what the hell made him expect any different?

“And your refusal to accept conventional genre norms is ingenious! Your songs were literally all over the place. Genres are such a banal standard to force one’s songs to mold around anyway. Such a brilliant statement.”

Amira and Brian both looked in opposite directions and nonchalantly sipped their drinks. Ok, the truth of that matter was, as a band, they’d yet to all agree on a genre to settle on. That wasn’t to say one was in favor of one genre while one was dead set on another. Half the time the conflicts were within each individual. Amira constantly bounced between wanting rock, hip hop, dubstep, and half the other genres on the charts. Most of Brian’s ideas could be summarized as either ___ or “a better opening for [insert show he loves]” and nothing in between. Oz wrote plenty of songs, though everyone suspected they weren’t showing half of the pieces they came up with. One day Vicky would show off a draft of a song that fell within the power rock range and the very next day bring to the table the worst idea of a rap song ever.

( **Ever.** )

They all knew it was likely the biggest contributing factor to their struggles in cultivating a following. But they kept falling in love with the weird variety of songs they were all coming up with. So everyone kept putting that decision to the side. Sometimes they would individually acknowledge that parts of themselves wanted it to stay there and just continued to do their own thing.

But, ah-hem, yeah, sure, a “statement.” They were totally making a “statement.” What Liam said. Everyone good to just go with what Liam said? Cool. Good.

The band—mostly Vicky—chatted up the vampire a while longer, listening to the… _least_ _orthodox_ reasons for liking a show imaginable before finally pushing the topic.

“I’m so happy you liked it! Should we put your email on the list to let you know when we have more shows?”

“How many others are on this list?”

Vicky wrung her hands behind her back. “You’d… ah… you’d be one of… four.”

“So exclusive.” Liam grinned. “I’m in.”

Behind the bouncing Vicky, Amira and Brian fist-bumped. As Liam texted her his email address, she asked further.

“So, uh… think you could, you know? Spread the good word about our band?”

Vicky’s bright smile hid the massive pit of nervousness in her gut. Hell, it was enough to hide the pit of nerves in both her friends as well.

Liam gave a gentle, warm laugh. “Oh, of _course not!_ ”

Death was no stranger to Brian or Vicky. Amira was a first timer in it’s cold embrace as she completely died inside.

“It’s brilliant of you—choosing to be so underground and poorly known. I wouldn’t dare ruin that for you. And what a wonderful coincidence—it suits my tastes perfectly. That and your poorly-coordinated aesthetic. I absolutely love it.”

Amira thought she could hear the veins bursting in Brian’s temples. Through clenched teeth he grumbled,

“I need more beer.”

Amira nodded in agreement. She’d stick with Vicky a little longer, but if she had to listen to Liam’s hipster trash mouth much longer she’d be quickly behind him. For now, not wanting to abandon her girl, she only gazed longingly at the bar. Maybe she should have a hinn bring her something. Something strong.

“In particular, your wardrobe choice, Victoria.”

Amira’s eye snapped back to Liam.

“Very low-budget grunge. So few have an appreciation for the classics. Grunge was retro once, but it’s not “retro again” yet. So uncool of you,” he said in adoration. “What’s better, you pull it off well.”

That pit in Vicky’s stomach had sank to a record low when he refused to share his high praise to others, but, well, in a way she supposed she could understand.

(In _what_ _way_ can you understand that ass-backwards logic?)

And the sincerity of his compliments to her outfit eased that pit away. Her heels tapped together as she thanked him.

With pursed lips and one eyebrow raised practically off her forehead, Amira’s eyes flicked back and forth between this boy and her best girl. Eyes that scrutinized every. Little. Detail. Then those lips spread into the widest fucking grin. Oh. Oh she saw now. Oh she saw where this was going. Amira knew how to take the temperature of the room. Of all the monsters to worry about at Spooky High, Liam was a pretty firmly non-violent one, so long as there wasn’t some “artistic reason” or “righteous cause” to justify it. She figured she should be alright leaving them alone to… talk. Behind her back, she popped out a hinn to keep an eye on Vicky. Not to snoop, only to alert Amira if anyone tried to hurt her friend.

She tapped Vicky on the arm and motioned toward the bar to let her know where she was headed. The Frankenstein’s monster nodded and gave a slight wave to let her know it was ok to go. She and Liam were still talking as she left.

As she came around, she eyed the cramped length of the bar but there was no Brian in sight. Sure, there was a bit of a mob around it, but Brian was a tall guy for humanoid monsters. He tended to stand out. Unfortunately, she’d already had a feeling she might not find him there. Her eyes scanned the warehouse.

Just as she thought.

In that one corner that shouldn’t be so much better lit than the bar he was talking to another monster. Unconcerned about law enforcement in such a derelict place, neither bothered with stealth as the monster passed him a plastic bag of pills and Brian in turn slipped them some cash.

With heavy shoulders, Amira turned away from the scene. A drug deal? In Monstropolis? No big deal. None. Not if it was just for fun shit. Not unless you knew that’s not what it was for. She squeezed her way through to the bar. He didn’t have another drink in his hand, so he’d show up there eventually.

As predicted, Brian did soon make it to the bar for a drink, fulfilling his earlier claim. He was surprised to find Amira here first, but she didn’t say anything, so he assumed she didn’t see anything. The two chilled out there for a while, getting a few words of praise from other monsters for the performance, a couple free drinks out of it, a few flirtatious offers. Amira definitely got the better half of the good luck, briefly leaving Brian to enjoy the good hand she’d been dealt.

The zombie got shit. Not that he’d been interested, but he was a bit off-put by one guy barely slurred out something discernable as a flirt before passing out on the ground where Brian left him to nap. The other girl, who he’d been even less interested in, was even more shitfaced as her seduction attempt turned into nearly throwing up on him. And when he picked her up by the shoulders to move her all of two feet to the left so she wouldn’t dump her guts onto him, her friends descended on him to give him an earful. That, and some more alcohol. Thrown at him. Which soaked completely through his shirt and down his pants. He glared daggers at the one chunk of sky visible through the hole in the roof. So much for that charm buff he got earlier.

For what it was worth, that meager amount of charm he inexplicably acquired garnered enough sympathy from another monster. She wasn’t interested in him in that way, being strictly interested in women. But she thought he looked like the kind of guy who deserved have drink, and not just have one drench his clothes.

(Here buddy. Have +1 Charm)

When Amira rejoined him, she’d been about to ask about the clothes when he grunted “don’t.” She didn’t. She _did_ make out with that monster who’d bought him a drink after getting complimented on how good she looked up there on guitar. Brian started to want to just go back to Amira’s motel already. Usually he mingled well at parties. Not that he ever said much, but some weirdos found that interesting enough, and not just to the monsters only looking to fuck. He was off his game. Maybe he’d be more upset about that if it hadn’t been the tone of the last couple weeks.

Or maybe it was these _stupid_ _shitty **fucking pants** ruining his night._

Eventually it was the two of them again and people started leaving them alone. At least until the one person they didn’t want to leave them alone found them. Tiny arms wrapped around the Amira’s waist. The squee in her ear made her smile.

“Oh my GAWSH he legit likes us! I mean, yeah, he’s not gonna tell anyone and I wanted to sob into the dirt a little—”

“The floor is paved in here, it’s not dirt,” Brian unnecessarily corrected in obnoxiously literal terms.

“But he’s still interested in coming! Maybe we can trick him into bringing somebody else. Maybe Polly, she’s always into parties. We can work with this! I know it!”

The reanimated monster babbled on while her fiery-haired friend oh so casually leaned one elbow on the bar propping up her chin in that hand and rested her other hand on her hip. Her wry, lopsided smirk accompanied the cockiest of cocked eyebrows while she waited for Vicky to eventually notice the _look_ she was getting served.

“—he was actually really funny, I swear, maybe you had to be there, anyway! Then… I… what?”

“You liiiiiiiiike him.”

Not a question. A fact.

“Wh—well, yeah, I… what!?” Her voice cracked.

Brian gave Amira a slack-jawed, questioning look. “Huh?”

“No!” she gasped when she realized what the ifrit meant. “You’re drunk. You’re taking one little conversation and running way too far with it.” Vicky shook her head in vigorous denial.

Not that he was on board with Amira’s claims, but even Brian had to give the blue-skinned monster a skeptical look. “One?”

Amira stuck out her tongue and spat an unnecessarily long _thhhhhhpppppp_. “Well that sucksss, ‘cos he liiiiiikes _you._ ”

“He does not _like_ me—not like that. He just likes talking to me.”

“What were you two doin’ over there _all night?_ ”

“It was not _all night,_ ” she said in a poor mockery of the ifrit’s voice. “And we were. Just. Talking.” She crossed her arms tight over her chest.

“Really? That’s all. Damn, that’s a shame, and here I tried to be a pal and give you all the alone time you needed for some canoodling.” There was the eyebrow-dance.

“Gross,” Brian grunted.

“That term is old even for me,” Vicky huffed.

“Great. So you two old folks can canoodle the night away.”

“Gross,” Brian reiterated.

Vicky uttered the meekest growl produced by monsterkind. “I came over because my mom texted it’s getting late for me! Do I have to assume you’re both too drunk to drive?”

Amira’s drunk bitch ass sniggered away at her friend while Brian rolled his eyes.

“I’ve only had beer and I can barely feel anything.” He pushed away from the barely-stable counter and hoped he wasn’t about to wobble. “If I’m wrong we’ll at least walk with you until we find a cab.”

“Thank you, _Brian._ ”

Laughs still murmured from Amira’s mouth, both monsters able to hear the teases she was preparing behind those conniving eyes of hers.

Brian swayed a few more times than Vicky was comfortable with, but he got all the equipment into the car practically on his own without dropping or breaking a thing. He rolled his eyes as she made him walk a straight line, but he did so because he knew she’d freak out about him driving to Amira’s if she didn’t watch him for at least part of the ride herself. He didn’t say so, but he felt better having her be a check on him. Alcohol or not, it was still technically illegal for him to be driving. He only had a learner’s permit, and neither Vicky nor Amira had a full license.

They got to the car, confirmed Brian was driving safely enough, and then from Amira came the teasing. Vicky played off as much of it as she could. After all, it was clearly Amira just teasing.

Unless there was more truth to what she said than Vicky was admitting to herself.

…

Oh dear.

\---

Finally, safely at the motel, Brian eased himself under the covers next to what he’d assumed was a long-passed out Amira.

“Those pills you got to help you sleep,” came her sleepy murmur, “or to pretend like you don’t need to sleep?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shit. She saw.

“Of course not… Though… if I was any kind of friend of yours… I’d be tempted to put you to sleep the good ol’ fashioned way… with a crowbar to the head.”

The zombie nodded. “Sounds soothing.”

Her barely-clenched fist came down to softly bonk him in the face.

“Go to sleep.”

Amira slurred something that sounded like a progressively softer, “ _You_ go to sleep.”

Brian stared at the ceiling. He waited till he was sure her breathing was slow and even. The beer-soaked pants he’d been forced to wear were right next to him on the floor. He rummaged through the pockets till he found the bag. Able to see in the dark, he sorted through the pills, making sure he chose one with the correct mark on it. The dealer hadn’t been courteous enough to put them in separate fucking bags. Not like he was picky, still he questioned whether it was time to find a more reliable source to buy from. Assuming that asshole hadn’t _really_ fucked up, he picked out a handful of sleeping pills. Enough to stop a human’s heart, and enough to knock him out for a solid night of sleep.

Hopefully it was just one night.

Eh, if he overslept it would be through a Sunday anyway. No school. No big deal.

The wishful part of his undead brain hoped Oz would be back already by the time he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait... again. A whole 4 weeks this time. Oof. Yeah, basically I had one calm month of 2019 and after that it's been hectic and difficult to keep up my past writing pace the rest of this year so far. Hopefully that isn't the theme of this *whole* year. I don't want these long gaps between updates to be the norm. Anyone following my Tumblr or Twitter has heard me say it before, if I'm taking unusually long to post it means I'm not able to give myself time to write, ultimately meaning something for me is messed up or stressful and I'm upset about it because writing is my passion and makes me happy. Me not writing = Me not happy
> 
> So, in related news one thing I want to do--not just yet, I'm gonna put out another chapter or two before doing this--is take a posting break. Not a WRITING break, just a break from posting. I want to build up a buffer of a few chapters so that if life gets cluttered again I won't be leaving you all with nothing for an unknowable amount of time. Again, not doing it right now, but in another couple updates--I'm planning on a shorter time span for the next update, but if life beats my face in again and it turns into a really long gap, I might do it after the next chapter. You can always follow my Twitter, @MarlowtheDucky for my dumb ramblings and progress updates. I still have Tumblr, (same username as my ao3) but my progress posts aren't as reliable there.
> 
> As usual, thanks all you nerds for reading! Kudos are appreciated, and please please please feel free to comment if you have anything you want to say! I love every fucking one you guys have left for me. You're all thoughtful and wonderful and 
> 
> Also, anyone curious as to what I had in mind for their set, here's a short playlist that gives the best feel for what's in my head  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrA405KPsVL37wP4r6CYmVWIkFjw3h8nv
> 
> BONUS!!! My last attempt at being funny for the night:  
> Alt. Title: Do they teach classes on how to title shit properly?  
> Alt. Alt. Title: Or Should I Retroactively Go Back and Make the Normal-ish Chapter Titles More Contvoluted?  
> Alt. Alt. Alt. Title: I Need to Establish a Sane Bedtime for Myself.


	18. Not Much Happens here, It's a Lazy Sunday but It's Set Up for a Mini-Adventure ft. Brian's Time to Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaappy Birthday to meee~ ^u^
> 
> And we're doing my birthday Soviet Russia style--so YOU get the present!  
> [tumble weeds roll at my long-dead reference]
> 
> Ah-hem, anyway, yeah, check the end note for my usual long-winded shpeal.

**_Hard Rewind…_ **

**[30+ Years]**

By the tips of her toes a scientist swiveled her chair in a lazy, partial rotation from side to side. Enough to provide the illusion of ‘not just sitting for hours in a chair,’ while not spinning so far that the long panel of black and white screens left her field of vision. A few dozen monitors depicted video feeds from as many cameras that worked together to capture every square foot of Holding Room PC-3 and every single test subject within.

Years of grueling study at university—all for this? Time after time, her wife told her everyone’s journey to success leads away from somewhere worse. Especially from somewhere really boring! She would say how her beloved monstress was the most brilliant and determined zombie newly stepping into her field, and the thought that she’d be stuck with this glorified intern-work for the rest of her afterlife was laughable.

The scientist lifted the mug her wife gave her to her lips and immediately grimaced at the taste of what she dubbed the worst flavor in the world—cold coffee. Not iced coffee, that was _different_. Coffee that had sat out, untouched, until it was stone cold was _different_ and _awful_. She hadn’t realized it had been sitting there for long enough to get so cold—that _she_ had been sitting there for so long! Didn’t she just get back from lunch?

(An hour and thirty minutes ago, actually.)

She buried her face in her hands to muffle a moan of pure mental exhaustion. What a god-awful shift.

Gluing her green, putrefied eyes back to the screens, she occupied herself with checking on a few of her “favorites.” Her eyes combed through the crowd of roughly one hundred “sleeping” zombies walking around an otherwise empty, auditorium-sized room. As torturously drab and prison-like as the room looked, it was for their own safety. Aside from each other, there was nothing to trip or hurt themselves on. A zombie without an awakened mind was a pitifully unintelligent creature. Even she would admit that.

As for why she picked favorites, well… even if they were unable to comprehend their own personhood, all zombies were individuals. A large number displayed unique quirks and characteristics. Not that she had many colleagues willing to recognize their uniqueness. On one hand, she understood this was a long-term study into researching the ratio of revitalization across zombie types. Revitalization being the event where a zombie who did not initially return from death with full self-awareness regains consciousness. And as far as the goals of the study were concerned, personal quirks and tics didn’t equate revitalization. Nor had anyone up to this point found a notable correlation between these quirks and who revitalized. It simply wasn’t relevant.

Still, it was a little off-putting that next to no one else in the entire research facility would even openly recognize the presence of any uniqueness in unconscious zombies. Like the one she called the Crossing Guard, because he would crook his neck to look left, wait three seconds, then look right, wait three seconds, before he walked at a steady pace forward until he made his next turn. And repeat. There was another one who she _really_ hoped was just reaching for something up high. After all, his fingers did slightly flex whenever he outstretched his arm at that awkwardly upward angle. But it was too awkwardly close for her to not call him Necro-Nazi. Or there was Beats, who constantly bobbed her head and patted her thighs to some tune that even death couldn’t get out of her head.

(Ingrid never found out what that tune was, but coincidentally it had the same bpm as “You Spin Me Right Round” by Dead or Alive.)

All of them bound up in a pen of four twenty-foot tall, steel walls. It was a dreary room. It really was. And this group had a very low frequency for revitalization. Even other groups of the same zombie type were putting out much higher numbers. Just her luck she was almost never assigned to those ones. Not that she would ask to be reassigned. It would all be more of the same, no matter how frequently someone woke up. She started to zone-out, forgetting what she was exhausting her eyes scanning the monitors so closely for in the first place. She fell so deep into a checked-out trance she didn’t even notice the new faces in the mix. Not until she saw one who had _definitely_ not been there before she went on her lunch break. One who looked starkly out of place in the mix.

“What in the—?”

“What’s that Ingrid?”

Her colleague’s sudden appearance would have surprised her, but she her eyes were so attached to the screen she didn’t even look up at first.

“…Hm? Oh—I…” When she saw who it was she felt her decayed stomach clench. She’d lost track of time. One of the few colleagues she considered a friend had gone home before she got back from lunch and left her on her own for a dull hour and a half. A dull, but infinitely preferable hour compared to a minute on-shift with Carver, the warlock.

“Iiii… where—” Oh she really didn’t want to have a conversation with this ass. But it was too late now, wasn’t it? “Where in the world did that one come from?”

“ _Which_ one? There’s a sea of a hundred shamblers in that pit.”

Ingrid shot him a scathing glare. That didn’t take long.

He put his hands up, sighing in surrender with notably more annoyance than sincere apology. “Sorry, geez. I forgot you were so touchy about the mindless ones too.”

The anger in her eyes only grew, as that did not _at all_ make his use of that term sound any better. Yes, she hated the word “shambler” even for zombies whose minds remained unconscious. Most monsters with a shred of decency did. It was moments like this that really made her question why a research study on exclusively zombified subjects was staffed by so few zombie scientists.

“Which of the one hundred and eleven _zombies_ looks new to you?” He added under his breath, “Not sure how you can tell the difference.”

“It’s—” Her fingers clacked over stiff keys, trying to make the camera focus on the one in question. “The kid. The one and only _child_ down there. Look, see?” She tapped the screen.

“Huh. Well, would you look at that.” He leaned in to look over her shoulder at the video feed, assuming she didn’t at all mind that he pressed himself right up against her.

(She did mind. She very much minded.)

“Anyway, mind getting that note off my chair?”

“The what?”

He pointed over at the desk in front of the other chair her friend previously sat in. A yellow sheet of paper was taped to the back of the seat, obviously set out to be immediately visible. And really only an unobservant moron would miss it. Ingrid told her internal critic to shut her trap, it was one of those days, ok!? She would have pointed out he was already standing and was perfectly able to get it his damn self, but it was an excuse to put distance between them. With one hard push of her legs, she rolled her chair away from the creepy coworker and over to the note.

 

_New batch of 15 came in while you were at lunch. Check out the little guy down there! Isn’t he cute? Call me later, let me know if any of them do anything cool._

 

He was a pure soul. Really, he was. A dryad who shared her interest in zombie ‘quirks’ and wasn’t hyper-masculine chauvinist? He was like finding a unicorn in this decade.

“You’re sure they’re new? He’s pretty small, could have just missed him before.”

Her eyebrows dropped so heavily into a deadpan glare it was almost audible. “I’ve been sitting around monitoring these holding blocks so long that my rear regained feeling just to go numb again. I would have noticed the _eight-year-old_ with the hole in his mouth by now!”

Carver smiled. “What a shame. You should have let me know when you had feeling back there. Would have given you something nicer than that chair.”

“Would you _focus_ , you _pig—!_ ”

“Oh would you please calm down. That was obviously a joke!”

“Want to hear a better one? You go down there and check the kid up close. See if he looks familiar to you.”

“That’s a really awful way to treat your mortal colleagues. You know, we’re taking a real risk just being here and—”

An alarm in the corner of the desk went off, beeping loud enough to be noticeable but not obnoxious. Saved by the bell.

“Time to check the mic, mind keeping your voice down.”

Carver huffed a few comments as if he meant them to be under his breath, yet not at all quietly enough to qualify as such. But Ingrid was in the mood for ignoring his petulant indignance and letting him live in the world where he was the persecuted party. The same one where hundreds of zombies were currently penned in giant underground jail cells, but whatever.

She reminded herself of all the good that this research would lead to. And if a little cramped confinement was the worst going on in this facility, that minor crime wasn’t _too_ , too bad if it was in the name of science.

(…)

Before one more word of his whining could set her off, she flicked the speakers on. The purpose for them was on the off chance that someone revitalized and started screaming for help but didn’t move and went unnoticed on screen.

There was a real risk if someone regained consciousness and fell into too much of a panic. Act too much like the living and, well… sometimes you were treated like the living. Yes, even other zombies. You’d only noticed when the other zombies in the room all rushed in on one point. And while rare, it happened more often than anyone liked to acknowledge in the break room.

In one case, the staff got down in time to save a woman before her brain could be destroyed. After they got her calmed down and put together a new body, she told them she’d been screaming for help for hours until she finally broke down and ran for the door. Now every room had microphones installed that they had to check every quarter hour. It still happened even with the microphones. Sometimes a zombie woke very quickly and fell into a panic even quicker. But it reduced the number enough so no one got sued.

At first they were set up to be on constantly, and never in the history of any workplace had employees gone on strike so quickly. The strike even included all the zombie staff members! Nobody wants to listen to a playlist of zombie-moans uninterrupted for a ten-hour shift!

A couple minutes every quarter-hour was manageable. Still boring, but manageable. After all, it was always the same. All zombies made incoherent groans and other wordless noises. Though, most managed a singular word. No reward for guessing. It’s “brains.”

( _Obviously_ it’s brains.)

And as usual, they heard more of the same today. Well, that, and something extra.

Both scientists shared confused looks as their ears picked up another sound. It wasn’t screaming, it wasn’t speaking… not really anyway, but it was more than “brains.”

“Where is that coming from?” Carver asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What if someone’s awake down there?”

“Then we’d better _find_ them, so get looking!”

Both started squinting at screens, trying to match mouth-movements to the sound. At least they had the benefits of modern technology giving such a sharp, clear image.

(Go back and watch YouTube videos from the early 2000s… and reverse that cringe feeling by a few decades more.)

“There!” When Ingrid tapped the glass over the culprit, she found herself right back at the screen where the kid was. Sadly, he was clearly not awake. She could tell from the stiff, sluggish movements and lopsided slump of his head.

Carver slid over to confirm, every time they heard the sound his mouth moved in sync with it. “What is he even…?”

Ingrid was already turning up the dial. It seemed muffled until she got it to just the right volume to hear the one, drawn out word he moaned over and over again,

“Briiiaaansss… Briiiiiiiiiaaannnssssss…”

The pair **_burst_** out laughing, both nearly falling backwards and forwards out of their chairs. Like a couple of god damn children they could not get themselves back together. Each time they started quieting down and gradually collected themselves, they’d hear the boy again saying,

“Briaaans…” and they would fall right apart.

She wanted to ponder whether it was a name he remembered so clearly, either his own or that of someone important to him, and it somehow overwrote the instinctual utterance of “brains.” Or if it was simply the result of a brain injury suffered during death and made him jumble the words. But she could hardly speak herself, nevermind voice any of these questions.

When her tears of mirth eventually dried, she would feel a pang of unease in her gut. Seeing him, a child, alone in there, it would hurt. There were other kids around in the facility, and if revitalized they were treated with great care. But there were no other children in his holding cell.

There was no telling who would revitalize and who wouldn’t, and it was pointless to try and guess. Though, some of her non-undead colleagues had a betting pool running. Despite all sense of reason telling her there was no point, she hoped this child wouldn’t be one of the ones that stayed asleep forever.

\---

**_Present…_ **

Given the fact that his skull felt like it was crammed full of bricks, Brian groggily assumed he was awake again. Just as he started to think it’d take a crowbar to pry his eyes open, there was light. All at once hazy and blinding through the slightest cracks in his eyelids. What he’d first assumed was the sun was actually the ceiling lamp. So much for guessing the time by how bright the room was. It took a few minutes of rolling as he groaned against his stiff muscles to find a position in which he could see a window. Through the grime-crusted glass panes was a pitch-black sky.

Shit.

While a zombie of few words, Brian could be quite loud when the mood struck. Being in one such mood, Amira’s comforter did little to stifle another groan as he attempted to smother himself back beneath the blankets. To Amira, who bemusedly watched his drowsy tantrum, it looked like he suddenly got pissed off at the lamp light for existing.

“Look who’s back from the dead.”

She assumed the muffled grunts she heard as she sipped her coffee was a “screw you.” A slight smile cracked the corner of her lips as she tried her hardest not to laugh and subsequently choke on her piping hot beverage. Even if she had, he was too busy losing the fight with the tangled sheets to retaliate. Once he finally kicked the blankets entirely off the bed he shielded his eyes in the crook of his elbow. His free hand slapped around the bedside table, looking for his phone. He peeked from under his arm and took note of the few blinking text notifications, doing his best to ignore the clock.

The crushing pressure in his head was too painful to read any of the texts. Did he get any painkillers? His memory of last night was so thoroughly scrubbed, he wasn’t sure he remembered everything correctly. What pills he even bought. The familiar, raging hangover told him he’d taken a couple more sleeping pills than recommended. And there was one other thing he’d made a point of seeking out, so he must have gotten that. But did he get painkillers? _Did_ he though?

“Uuhhrr…” Covering his eyes again, Brian glared into the palm of his arm, annoyed that he forgot so much. The show was clear—not a chance Vicky would let any of them perform after more than two beers—and he remembered being mad at Liam, he assumed, for being a hipster shit.

(No prizes for guessing that one. Liam’s always being a hipster shit.)

Why did he feel so sickeningly guilty though? He usually only felt that bad when he lied to Vicky about how sober he was the previous night.

He went back to banging his hand on the nightstand, this time looking for whatever drugs he had left, assuming he didn’t destroy his supply in one go. He grabbed around until his hand hit crinkling plastic. A Ziplock bag. Once he decided the drugs were worth facing certain retinal obliteration—

(Calm the hell down, the shitty lamp doesn’t even light up the room that well.)

—he bravely peered through a crack between his fingers to see if he had any…

Well.

There weren’t any painkillers.

In fact, there were no pills of any kind.

There _was_ a looot of money. Like damn, the bills folded in half inside the little plastic baggie looked like they barely fit through **.**

The next string of groans and grunts was hard to make out even to Amira. But if she had to guess she’d say that last one sounded like something along the lines of “where the FUCK are they.”

“So Sleeping Beauty, how was that hundred-year sleep?”

Too nauseous, all the zombie managed was to roll on his side and made a sloppy attempt to prop himself up on his elbow. He gave up his attempt to glare her down as soon as he looked at her. It wasn’t fair, she cheated by cranking up the brightness of her hair.

(That’s definitely a thing she’s capable of doing. Not at all the hangover he definitely doesn’t have.)

“Don’t worry, I fended off all the rapists.”

“Where’s my Adderall!” The act of speaking above a weak mumble was so draining it cranked up the pounding in his head to an eleven.

Amira felt a tad guilty for enjoying her friend’s suffering but watching him yell at her with his eyes squeezed so tight was too good. How was she not supposed to laugh? Just a little?

“Down the throat of some other junkie with stellar grades.”

“Why aren’t they in the friggin’ bag!” Yelling was worse. So much worse. He mentally yelled at himself for being such a moron, but somehow the sound of _that_ hurt his head more.

“Because I sold them off to some loser who _isn’t_ my best friend.”

 “The hell is the matter with you?”

“I’m a lunatic bitch who gives a flying fuck about her friends’ health, that’s what.” She took the classiest sip from the crappiest coffee mug.

“I don’t hear shit when I pass you a joint. Or when Polly’s passing out tabs like parade candy.”

 “Pfft. Pot’s nothing. Acid’s nothing. Getting stoned for the hell of it is _nothing_ but you take Adderall like Tic Tacs until your brain’s soup.”

An implosion went off only in his temples, crunching inward at those two points and wrecking every brain cell in between.

“As if ODing is a problem for me,” he said between hisses of pain.

The flames on Amira’s head roared in tandem with the furious curses in Farsi on her lips.

“You and Oz! The _both_ of you! Just because something can’t kill you does not mean you’re not getting hurt!”

The car compactor that had his skull trapped gave his brain another crunch.

“If you want to babysit someone so bad go beg your family to take you back!”

Never before had Brian hated himself so quickly as he did for saying that.

Nothing shy of a supercomputer with a penchant for quantifying aspects of all things living or differently living and capable of measuring nanoseconds would be able to say for certain how instantaneously that sense of utter disgust in himself hit the zombie. Even if he had such a friend able to give him the numbers, he wouldn’t care because it only got worse as he watched her stony expression. Giving him nothing. Clueing him in on not one of her thoughts. Purely reactionless. When she set her coffee mug down on the sliver of counter space the cramped kitchenette had, her movements were gentle, barely making a sound as it tapped down. She retained the same level of composure when she moved to the white plastic hooks, sticky-taped to the wall by the door, where her coat hung and shrugged it over her shoulders.

“Amira—”

“Grabbing coffee I’ll be right back.”

“No—shit—I was—”

The door didn’t bother to wait to see if he could successfully call her back. He didn’t have nearly enough charm to sway her. It slammed behind her, saving him the trouble of embarrassing himself.

As if Brian would be stopped from embarrassing himself that easily.

He’d been too drunk the previous night—technically they didn’t get in until the dark hours of the morning—to manage anything more than getting his pants kicked off before he got in bed. How those ugly-ass pants wound up on top of the standing lamp in the corner mystified him. Not enough to make him pause. The overpowering guilt drowned out such thoughts.

Thuds of his heavy footsteps and nauseated stumbling sounded so hollow in the empty motel room as he scrambled for the bare-minimum amount of clothing. He didn’t bother with socks before cramming his feet into unlaced boots. There was an attempt to grab his coat off the hook— _‘Where Amira probably it up for me,’_ he realized as regret made his stomach queasy.

(Or maybe that was still the drugs.)

But he swung the door shut too soon and it slammed on his arm, popping it off at the elbow. Aside from the fact that he didn’t have the keys to the now locked door, he didn’t give himself time bemoan the loss of his arm. He took his dismemberment in stride and pushed his stiff joints into a run… aaand then he slipped and tumbled down the stairs—but after that! He rolled gracelessly back up to his feet, looking up just in time to see her turn around the corner.

Amira held her eyes sternly forward, even when she heard Brian’s heavy boots catch up to her.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah you are.” There was a bite in her voice. Or perhaps that was the intense heat radiating from her hair. The flames were no bigger than normal, but the temperature coming off her was so high it was painful to stand beside her, even with Brian’s dulled sense of touch. He didn’t back away from her. Sweating it out was the least he deserved.

“What I said was out of line.”

“So. _So_ out of line.”

“I’m sorry, I’m—” His head throbbed with all the gentleness of a thousand razorblades pumped through his blood. With the hand he still had, he ground his fingers against his temple and did everything in his power to simply keep balance and keep up with her. Not an easy task when the ground spun beneath his feet. “Fuck, I’m awful today!”

“You’re hung over from your little overdose dreams.”

Her voice kicked with anger, but not nearly as much as Brian expected. What he deserved was to be screamed at. Told to get his wretched fucking face away from her. How could he have said that!? He was so ashamed and disgusted with himself. She should have been angry, but she just looked hurt. That little crinkle formed between his eyebrows. That was so much worse.

She leaned closer toward him and shouted, “And I’m guessing every word I say is totally helping the pounding in your head.”

Brian flinched.

“Damn right it is!” She continued, not lowering her volume, “I’m sure those car horns are helping _more_. Oh! Oh, even better! Hear that?”

(He sure did.)

“We got a whole biker gang hauling ass down the road!” She yelled at the top of her lungs so she could just be heard over the revving of altogether too many motorcycles.

Brian couldn’t even tell if he was still walking, his whole head felt like a blender. The louder she spoke and the engines roared, the deeper the pain drilled through his skull and the brighter every light in the city blazed through his retinae. The short answer was no, none of the things she listed were helping.

One hand rested on her hip, looking upon her suffering friend, Amira calmly enjoyed the blissful sounds of a largely quiet city street. Cars passed at a consistent flow, but road rage was at a pleasant low, by Monstropolis’s standards at least. Because _fortunately_ she was not under an illusory spell capable of inflicting the skull-splitting thunders of imaginary motorcycle gangs. You know, spells like the one that glowed on Amira’s fingertips.

After close to seven straight minutes of non-stop Harleys rumbling by, it was finally quiet enough for Brian to hear the ringing in his ears.

“And I’ll bet what you _really_ want right now is me tearing you apart with a lecture while you’re ready to puke on the sidewalk.”

For a second, Brian thought he was sweating from the exertion of running after Amira. Then he remembered exertion wasn’t a thing for his body. Nope, it was a reaction to her simply saying “puke.” For some reason the word dropped the blender from his head to his gut.

She reached for his arm only to find empty air. Her eyes snapped up to find the zombie beside her was missing an entire half of his arm.

His lips held in a tight line. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple. Eyes squinted, trying very hard not to give away any emotion in his face. An expression Amira knew well as his embarrassed face. He was pretty sure there was a good reason he didn’t have half his arm, but dammit if he wasn’t so ready to vomit he already forgot how that happened. Amira scowled, rolled her eyes, and grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him into the next alley, getting them off the main streets.

She found a metal trash can, frisbee-tossed the lid away into the gutter and pushed Brian against it so he could get this over with already. As the retching started up, she backed up and leaned her back against the wall opposite him. At least she waited for the sounds to quiet down and for his legs to steady before popping open another can of Amira Sass™.

“And here I’ve been waiting all damn day to tell you about the job from Vera that I got you. Wanted to tell you sooner but _you_ decided it’d be _stupid_ to take a _normal fucking dose_ of sleeping pills.”

His gurgled moan vibrated in the metal bin. She wasn’t going to lower her voice any time soon, was she?

“Apparently, puking your guts out in the shittiest alley in the city is your favorite way to spend your Sunday.”

He groaned, “Don’t say puke.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of you _puking._ ”

Brian prayed the sounds of his agony were satisfactory penance, because he wasn’t sure he could take her wrath if she wanted to get serious. Though, he wouldn’t have asked for mercy even if he could do anything but stand silent, fingers clenched on the rim of the garbage can.

Amira wasn’t quite ready to give him the “you’ve learned your lesson” stamp, but this was getting hard to watch. The green of his flesh was always a ghastly hue, but the shade she saw in his cheeks when he feebly lifted his head out of the can was distressing. She supposed coming back from the dead was a hellish process even if it wasn’t his first time around.

“Let’s go,” she sighed, gently pulling him out of the alley by his shoulders. “Ya big, green dope.”

\---

Amira sat beside Brian with her arms were crossed, elbows rested on the metal counter in one of the alcoves of Zoo. She was in the splash zone of the zombie’s meal, but the hostess had kindly provided wet wipes. Ever the persuasive little ifrit, Amira managed to convince the hostess to make them pay only for the head of one person by giving her the idea to could sell off the rest on the human meat market. And with all the other zombies who frequented the “restaurant” and never finished the entire body, they could rake in so much more in profits. The owner was so grateful that she gave Brian a year’s supply of free drink coupons. With refills!

(And tossed +4 Money Amira’s way.)

As he slurped down the glass of water Amira forced into his hand, one Pitbull-headed hinn cracked the skull open. Brian had tried to do so himself at first while Amira watched him struggle with a wry smile. Splitting a man’s skull was remarkably more difficult without his other hand. It took half his meal and three refills of pure cerebrospinal fluid to restore his cognitive functions enough to stop making an ass of himself. All the while Amira sat beside him quietly letting him recover.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Just let me have it already.”

“I’m not in the mood for babysitting.”

Brian winced at the verbal slap.

“I _am_ in the mood to give my buddy some advice.”

He set the glass down. Even as rejuvenated as he felt, the space behind his eyes kept throbbing. He admitted to himself he probably should have counted how many pills he took. And… maybe… eased back on that number… by a couple. Needless to say, he still wasn’t in any mood for “a talking to.” But he was the jerk who took too low of a blow. So you bet your ass he’d deal with it and pay attention.

“You know I’m not the kind of hypocrite that’ll lecture you over drugs. ‘Specially not after Thursday when Dames and me dropped acid before going on our arson spree.”

Brian’s eyes froze on the wall ahead of him. Only the crease just above the bridge of his nose gave away his monumental concern. He had not known about that part.

“But _why_ you’re using Adderall is what worries me— _Brian._ ” She scratched her scalp through the dancing flames. “Really?” Amira looked at him incredulously. “You stay awake indefinitely even if your mind is so tired it starts shutting down. If you’re anywhere _near_ that point you can’t be taking _anything_ to keep you up longer! So? What’s it for Brian? Hm? Suddenly get a new diagnosis for something?”

He refused to look at her, trying to avoid eye contact, so she leaned forward on her elbows and forced herself into his field of vision.

“Please. Tell me about that very legitimate prescription you have for your ADD medication.”

Brian mentally scraped through the shredded remains of his brain for a valid excuse for buying meds known to keep people awake unholy numbers of hours when he had a known history of sleep problems. While he did, he kept mashing the “remain silent” option. But unlike an RPG video game, Amira somehow did not skip over him to keep talking. A really, very stupid part of his brain suggested the vain hope that maybe Amira would simply… forget. The rest of his brain proved itself even more stupid when he actually acted on that hope and stared at her. Wordlessly. Motionlessly, except to put small bites of brain in his mouth and slowly chew.

In a shocking turn of events, she did not forget. He was forced to fess up.

(This did not at all mean he spared her his snark.)

“You have been with me all the nights I’ve actually slept for the past three weeks.”

Amira’s hair sputtered crackling sparks. “What!?”

The gravity of what that meant sunk in like a boulder hitting the ocean.

“My foster moms needed the help.” He shrugged. Maybe, just _maybe_ if he kept his body language uncaring she would see this as no big deal.

In a shocking turn of events, _that didn’t fucking work either._

“Brian.”

“What’s a few all-nighters…turned-all-weekers for a zombie anyway?”

“Briiian.”

“I’m not even that tired yet.”

“ _Briiiiiiiii-yun._ ”

“I’m also… maybe… a bit behind on my schoolwork because of it.”

“This _may_ shock you, but I did guess that’s what your ungodly Chex-mix of medication in a baggie was about.”

“What! How?”

The most exasperated groan ripped from her lungs as she gritted her teeth and barely restrained her fire-laced, rigidly curled fingers from ringing his neck.

“Oz won’t eat—you won’t sleep—Vicky keeps putting herself into cardiac arrest—why the hell do you all keep trying to perma-die!”

“Technically, Oz can’t die, they’ll just enter a conceptual state and be unable to maintain sentience—”

“What part of my face looks like it’s in the mood for semantics?”

“Vicky can keep coming back—”

“What. Part.”

“I’ll only—”

“Name which part, Brian.”

“—lose my consciousness,”

“Brian.”

“—and go back to being a shambler.”

“Am I interrupting your little TedTalk, here? Oh, geez, that must be so obnoxious for your enormous, clamoring audience of _absolutely nobody._ ”

Brian nodded. “It’s damn inconvenient is what it is.”

“What a pain I am, thinking you should make your health a priority. Damn, I’m just so sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Amira’s hair flared. She slugged him in the half-arm so hard it popped off. Brian lazily glanced at where it fell.

“Ow.”

“Do you want to keep running with your asshole-comment streak? Or do you want to shut your decrepit trap and hear a better idea than drugging yourself out of this dimension just to catch up on some assignments?”

Brian’s response was to stick the straw between his teeth slurp. Loudly. For a long time.

Technically speaking, that counted as shutting his decrepit trap.

“You clearly didn’t hear me before, but I got you a job from Vera.”

The zombie’s eyes widened. Yeah, ok, the hangover definitely made him miss that part.

“She wants to send someone to watch Valerie’s back while she steals some info out of PGS’s office. Here I’m thinking, sure I can handle that no prob. Buuut—” Amira tapped a finger to her forehead. “My skillset isn’t _specifically_ needed here. And don’t I have a buddy who just told me he could use a job?”

Brian long since put his drink down and stopped avoiding eye contact.

“I told her how you’re better suited for this one and she agreed to give it to you instead.”

“Isn’t this part of your deal to stay in the motel?”

“Well—pfff—yeaaah,” she waved her hand dismissively with a less than confident grin. “But Vera said she’d accept a referral and it would still count towards letting me stay.”

Amira left out the part where Vera added, _‘as long as you accept responsibility if the mission fails because of your substitute.’_ Even though she did, Brian assumed Vera had told her something along those lines.

“I still _am_ in on this job, I just got switched to a minor part, is all. I’m your lookout. Vera was originally going to take that position herself, but I convinced her it was grunt work anyway. And I am her new grunt! So, yeah.”

It was to watch out for him and he knew it.

“My idea is, I ask Vera if she’d be cool with another favor-trade. I know you need the money, but for the moment I think this’ll help more. She has that nerds-for-hire side business at school—in exchange for the job, maybe she can hook you up with someone to get you caught up on your schoolwork!”

Normally he’d make some deadpan-snarky remark about it, Vera’s ruthless dealings, anything. This time, his silence wasn’t a chosen action, he really didn’t know what to say. The ultimately, most stupid part of his brain offered the rational suggestion to apologize again and thank her at least four dozen times. Not-hungover-Brian would snark up a storm with something like ‘good thing I’m not _that_ stupid!’ But the Brian with Amira right now was very hungover and in the short time he’d been awake had been more than a little that stupid.

He muttered his apology and gratitude as unintelligibly as he could.

“Whaaat? Amira is the best, more beautiful friend you ever had, and you want to be my servant for a week?”

“What!? No!”

“Oh Brian, I’d say that’s unnecessary, but I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful. Of course I’ll accept!”

“Listen you overgrown will o’ the wisp—!”

“I’d accept your apology too, if you’d put a bit more sincerity in it.”

Brian’s tongue shriveled back as he teetered on the edge of shooting another insult. It didn’t help that she waggled her eyebrows above her smarmy grin.

“Sorry for being a grade A asshole. I totally earned that illusion spell you put on me.”

She smirked. “You knew?”

“Not at first. But I’m pretty familiar with that weird sensation that hits when one of your spells is killed.”

They shared a snort of laughter. Both knew the only way anyone got familiar with someone’s personal post-spell cast feeling was to be put repeatedly under their spells. Though, she almost never cast them against her friends like this. Not unless she was pushed past a certain point, as the zombie acknowledged to himself with another twist of guilt. Brian drew in a full breath and locked his eyes onto Amira’s with undead seriousness.

“I am sorry. I hope you know that. My head was pounding—it still is, and I felt like roadkill, but I said that to hurt you. I got cruel with you. And I shouldn’t have.”

“Becaaauuuse?”

The intact corner of his mouth upturned in a slight smile. Despite his usual instincts to play the dumb shit and force her to tease it out of him long enough to become more of a frustration to her than to himself, he would give in easy for once. After everything today—er, tonight, rather—she had earned all of his ‘Nice Coupons: Redeemable for One (1) Not-Shitheel Brian.’

“Because it’s fine to be monsters as long as we’re not monstrous to the ones we love.”

“Aaand youuu?”

Brian rolled his head back with a gurgling sigh. He hoped she might be merciful, but those waggling eyebrows he saw in the corner of his vision knew no mercy.

“And I consider you one of my best friends, one of the closest to a real sister as I’ve ever known.”

“Aaaaaannn- _d?_ ”

In spite of the outwards wall of uncrackable stoicism he projected to everyone else— _when sober_ —his smile eased into earnest, platonic affection.

“And if you’d shut the heck up I could finish and tell you I love you.”

His eyes popped open.

They froze on the phone in her hand that he hadn’t noticed until just now. Her masterful eyebrow maneuvers—all a distraction! For under the table her hand angled her cell just right to capture the rare spectacle of Brian, the Gentle Undead “Giant” displaying exactly One (1) Emotion.

(Metaphorically speaking, of course—not to offend any giants.)

The ifrit darkly, softly chuckled at the zombie’s hung open mouth.

“Not Tweet-worthy, but that definitely needs to go in the group chat.”

“It does not need to.”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of—”

She tapped a button and Brian’s own voice played through the speaker,

_“Sorry for being a grade A asshole. I totally earned that illusion spell—”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT the end of the Post-Hiatus. I uh... life is a real whirlwind. What else can I say. u_u;
> 
> I DO have more started on the upcoming chapters, but it's very little and not even close to "finished" by any stretch. The boat of my life is being rocked--nothing BAD, I assure you. But it's eaten up all my writing time. Things are smoothing out, I'm back to writing this nerdfest I love so much. The reason I'm posting this one already is, well, like I said it's my birthday. And I decided this would be my present to myself, get one off my shoulders. I know it's 97% angst, and not a lot happens, but I hope you all enjoy it still. I've been wanting to do something to touch more into Brian's story for a while, but he kept getting sidelined and I felt bad. >A<
> 
> Our zombie-boy deserves some Brian-centric chapters! So that's what's up right now, hope you like 'em!
> 
> P.S.-- At this point I'm basically just testing the extents that I can push the character limit in the title-bar. This is your heads up that I have COMPLETELY given up on socially acceptable titles. >;D


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